Profit and Loss
by Sue Denham
Summary: “You sit in a car, you make small talk, you laugh politely at his humourless jokes, you get him to the safe house and then you leave.” ... But things are never that straightforward. Set between 5.4 and 5.5
1. Chapter 1

******_First attempt at a bit of a longer story. Set between 5.4 and 5.5. I think there's a gap in there somewhere. A bit of flashbacking in the first chapter but then it settles down._**

* * *

**St Angela's Hospital – 1300 Monday 16****th**** January**

Harry's shoes echoed upon the freshly scrubbed floor of the hospital corridor; his senses assailed by the overpowering odour of disinfectant. He ignored the bustle of the people around him. There was only one destination on his mind and nothing was going to distract him from it. She shouldn't be here; it shouldn't have happened and he shouldn't be here now, trying to find out what was going on. There were times when he hated his job, there were times when he wished that the decisions he made didn't have such consequences.

He glanced again at the signs on the wall and reaffirmed that he was heading in the right direction. Why was it, he wondered, that hospitals had to make things so difficult to find? He also couldn't understand why they felt obliged to name their wards after poets or flowers or something equally as vacuous. The names didn't fool anyone...if someone was in a hospital there was something wrong with them; hiding them away in a ward named Daffodil or Chrysanthemum did nothing to detract from that. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and continued on his way.

* * *

**Thames House – 1900 Friday 13****th**** January**

A shadow fell across his desk; a shadow that was accompanied by a rather heavy sigh. Harry knew immediately who the shadow and the sigh belonged to.

"Ah Ruth. Good, good, you're ready."

Harry looked up from his work to see Ruth standing in front of his desk. It took him a moment to realise that she wasn't wearing her coat. He then took in the expression on her face. "You're not ready?" he questioned.

"I ...I can't do this," she tried to explain to him, her fingers nervously twisting the pen that she held.

"Yes you can," Harry countered, trying not to let his frustration show. "You sit in a car, you make small talk, you laugh politely at his humourless jokes, you get him to the safe house and then you leave."

Ruth pulled a face. "It's not that...I have a place, a place I have to be."

"Correct, and that place is downstairs in reception waiting for the car and the Special Branch officer to arrive."

"You're supposed to call them Counter Terrorism Command now," Ruth reminded him, more out of habit than anything else.

"Which I still think is a stupid name," he snapped. "What was wrong with Special Branch? Everyone knew what it meant; it didn't need sexing up for a new generation."

"Can't you send someone else?" Ruth brought the conversation back to the matter in hand.

"Certainly..." Harry paused and took in the hopeful expression on Ruth's face. "..If you can teach Jo conversational Arabic in the next ten minutes!"

He watched as her face fell and felt a touch of guilt.

"I'm sorry Ruth, but I really need you on this one. We promised to deliver Azhar al-Hassan to the safe house and I need someone to hold his hand on the journey."

"And this hand-holding is my responsibility?"

"It is now."

"Harry....he's..." Ruth stopped short of expressing her opinion of the man.

Harry could sympathise with her. Azhar al-Hassan had arrived in the country a week earlier, ostensibly a companion to his Government's foreign minister, but ever since his arrival he had been nothing but a nuisance. Never there when he was required and seeming to show no consideration for those who were supposed to be looking after him. His time in the city however had come to an end. The minister he had been accompanying had travelled on to attend to other business and al-Hassan had been left behind. All that needed to be done now was to get him to a safe place and then on to meet up again with the rest of his party. Like the foreign minister he had demanded a safe house out of town, convinced that the city was not a safe enough place to stay.

"It's a couple of hours at most," he told her, trying to make her understand that he wasn't asking her to escort al-Hassan to the other end of the country.

He noted the way that she opened her mouth as if to add some further objection and then promptly closed it again.

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," he reminded her.

"And neither would I."

Harry had no chance to reply as Ruth turned smartly on her heel and left the office. He stared after her and let out a heavy sigh. He was going to pay for sending her out on this trip. He didn't know when she'd get her revenge on him, but he was certain that she would. He was aware of the level of interference she ran for him with the pen-pushers from GCHQ and the Government; he had the feeling that his phone traffic from certain departments was about to experience a dramatic increase in volume. There was nothing to be done about the situation however. He could send Ros, but he really wasn't certain what her state of mind was right now; and upsetting al-Hassan at this stage of the game was something he was not prepared to risk. He'd contemplated telling Ruth that she was a 'safe pair of hands' but he wasn't certain in her present mood just how she'd take it.

He watched as she reached her desk and powered down her Mac, the precision of each movement, emphasising her annoyance. Harry's sigh deepened; he had the feeling that next week he was going to be drowning under the weight of phone calls.

**

* * *

****St Angela's Hospital – 1305 Monday 16****th**** January**

Harry's pace slowed as he reached the end of the corridor and came upon the small boxed off area that served as the nurse's station.

"Ruth Evershed," he addressed the first nurse to turn round. "I need to know where she is."

"And you would be?" the nurse queried patiently.

"Someone who doesn't have the time to stand around observing the social niceties," he told her sharply. "A simple and straightforward answer to the question would be appreciated."

"I'm sorry sir," the nurse apologised. "We're not at liberty to reveal information regarding patients."

"Oh I think you can make exceptions." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his identification. "Tell me the room number...now."

**

* * *

****St Angela's Hospital Accident and Emergency – 1310 Monday 16****th**** January**

Ros Myers pushed her way past the nurse who was politely but firmly telling her that she had no right to be in the room with the patient. The words didn't register on Ros's consciousness, she had only one thing on her mind and that was to get to the side of the man and get information from him before he did something as inconsiderate as dying on her.

The nurse looked around hopefully for support as the slender, blond-haired woman barged past her, but no-one paid her any heed, all their attention was focussed on trying to save the life of the injured man on the bed.

Ros stood just back from the bedside and waited for her opportunity to step forward, her impatience beginning to get the better of her. She watched the doctors work and wondered just how long it would take them to stabilise the patient.

As she looked on, she saw the man start to cough and twitch on the bed, signs of consciousness returning. Seizing her chance she made her way to his bedside.

"This is important," she told him quickly, forgoing the courtesy of introductions. "What did you tell them? I need to know what you told them."

She watched as he turned his head from side to side, pain etched on his features.

"Details," she told him coldly, switching into Arabic. "I need to know if you told anyone..."

She felt hands on her arms trying to pull her away from the bedside. She was certain that they were accompanied by choice phrases, telling her that the patient was in no state to be questioned but she really didn't have the time to listen to them, her attention was focussed on the man on the bed. She asked her questions again and hoped that he could still hear her.

* * *

**Littleton Farm – 1320 Monday 16****th**** January**

Jo watched her own breath as it formed delicate white shapes in the cold air. The temperature was bitter and she slapped and rubbed at her arms with her gloved hands.

"You think we're going to find anything more here?"

Adam looked up from where he was picking his way through the debris that littered the torn damp linoleum floor. "The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can get out of here."

She met his gaze and pulled herself out of her revere. "Sorry," she told him. "It's just that this place gives me the creeps."

"Sir?" A gruff voice from the doorway interrupted the conversation.

Adam raised his head and acknowledged the black-clothed police officer who stood in the doorway.

"What is it?"

"We're ready to move the bodies, if you've finished with them."

Adam nodded. "I think it's safe to say that we've finished with them."

"Right," the man nodded and then turned and left the two officers alone.

Adam watched him go. "I don't think he likes us much," he noted. "Thought he was going to shoot us as well when he burst in through the door."

Jo smiled weakly and then looked down at her feet. "She is going to be ok, isn't she?"

Adam smiled. "Of course she is."

Jo wanted to press him further but the beeping of Adam's mobile ended the conversation before it could progress. She watched as he slipped the phone from his jacket and brought it up to his ear.

"Ros," he answered. "What's the news?" Jo watched his face, looking for some sort of reaction. As she watched, Adam turned away from her and began pacing the room, his free hand pushing through his hair. "Shit. He said nothing?"

Jo held her breath, waiting to hear if any more news would follow. The whole situation they were in was wrong. It should never have happened. It was supposed to be a simple babysitting job; no-one had foreseen what would occur.

**

* * *

****Thames House – 2200 Friday 13****th**** January**

There was silence on the grid, apart from the steady hum from the computers and the air-conditioning units. Jo stabbed at the keyboard in front of her, not interested in completing the report that flickered on her monitor. She hated the quiet evenings; the place just didn't feel right without the buzz that usually filled the floor.

She cast her eyes around at the room's other occupants. Ros was typing at her station; her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she seemed to attack her report with a ferocity that Jo just couldn't muster. She switched her attention to Malcolm who was scrolling through pages of computer code, looking for the mistake that had been made by one of the external programmers. She'd heard his low muttering about their shoddiness and was loath to ask him anything more about the subject, fearful that he might answer with one of his long and involved explanations. Yawning, she leant back in her chair and asked after the only other topic of conversation she could think of

"So, where are they then Malcolm?"

Malcolm raised his head from the work that he was doing and cast an eye towards the monitor to his left. A small red light was flashing brightly on the map displayed on the screen.

"They're making steady progress," he told her. "What's the interest?"

Jo shrugged her shoulders. "None really," she admitted. "Just need a little distraction to brighten my otherwise dull evening."

"Sorry that you find our company so uninspiring," Malcolm replied smoothly, narrowing his eyes and paying closer attention to the flashing dot on the screen before glancing at his watch. "They really aren't making good time," he noted.

Ros glanced up from her work. "Ruth's probably persuaded the driver to stop the car to come to the aid of a rabbit they've hit." She looked at the expressions on the faces of her two colleagues. "Either that or she's stopped to smell the flowers."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Flowers in January are pretty thin on the ground," he muttered as he stared at the flashing red indicator with more interest. "At this rate they're not going to reach the safe house until midnight."

Jo winced. "Ruth won't be happy with that."

"Why not," Ros asked coldly. "She's not planning on turning into a pumpkin, is she?"

Jo ignored Ros's jibe and moved to Malcolm's side to see for herself the slow progress of the escort car.

"So where do you think they should be by now?" she asked as she perched on the side of the desk.

Malcolm sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to get back to his work until he'd explained things to Jo. He knew full well that her interest had more to do with her desire for some distraction from the work she was supposed to be doing, rather than genuine interest in the tracker.

"The route and the timing of the journey were carefully planned," he explained. "By my reckoning, they should be here," he tapped at a point on the map graphic, "which is about twenty five miles away from their present location." He glanced up at Jo. "Has that sated your insatiable curiosity, or are you wishing to procrastinate further?"

Jo raised her hands in mock surrender. "Sorry Malcolm. I won't keep you from your own personal Da Vinci code any longer."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Oh wit, thy name is Jo!"

She smiled at the deadpan expression on her colleague's face and jumped off the desk, her eyes passing across the screen once more.

"Malcolm?"

"What is it now?'

Jo pointed a finger at the screen. "Where have they gone?"

**

* * *

****Escort vehicle A40 – 2155 Friday 13****th**** January**

Ruth turned her head to the right and looked out into the night. Through the heavy fog that hung in the frozen air, she could make out the flashes of light from the cars that were speeding their way along the motorway. She sighed inwardly and wished that their journey would permit them to take the more direct route. She knew full well though that transport protocol meant that they periodically turned off the motorway and wended their way through more of the twisting A roads in an attempt to disguise their final destination, but she couldn't help thinking that in situations when the visibility was so poor, the precaution just wasn't worth it.

"There is something wrong?" Azhar asked her, his tone one of polite concern.

Ruth tore her attention away from the world flashing past the window and turned to face him.

Azhar's face wore an expression of concern and she immediately felt a twinge of guilt. She knew that she hadn't been the best of companions so far. She had politely introduced herself but then made little effort to engage the man in conversation. He, in turn had seemed reticent to talk and she'd convinced herself that the silence in the car was down to his reluctance to talk rather than her mood.

"It's nothing," she assured him, hoping that he wouldn't press the matter further.

"You don't want to be here?"

She forced a smile to her lips. "Forgive me; I'm just a little tired that's all."

Leaning forward, Ruth addressed the driver. "Marcus; how much further?"

"Another 40 miles...but there's something else I think you ought to worry about."

"And that would be?"

"Silver Mercedes behind us."

Ruth glanced back over her shoulder at the car that was following them.

"What about them?"

"We picked them up about 20 miles back."

"And you didn't say anything then because…"

"Because it could just have been another car heading our way. Special Branch don't tend to encourage all their drivers to be completely paranoid!"

Ruth's face wore a suitably contrite expression. "Good point. I'll call it in though, just in case it is something we should be worrying about."

She smiled, in what she hoped was a reassuring way, to Azhar and shifted in her seat, searching out her mobile phone. She knew that she'd have to tell him something but until she knew what that something was, she was just going to keep quiet. Unlocking the keypad she hit the speed dial and waited for the connection to be made…After a few moments she lowered the phone.

"This isn't good," she muttered.

"What is it?" came the call from the driver's seat.

"No signal."

"That can't be right. Try mine."

Ruth unclipped her seatbelt and leant forward, peering at the display on the phone that was attached to the dashboard.

"Same thing…not one bar."

She glanced up into the rear view mirror and met Marcus's gaze briefly. The look was long enough to establish that they were both thinking the same thing. Although they were off the main road, they weren't anywhere that should be registering as a mobile dead spot.

Ruth's eyes drifted nervously back to the car behind them. Was it possible that someone in the vehicle was using a handheld device to block their signal? Raising awareness of their tail wasn't something that was encouraged in the handbooks, but if the car behind had activated a jammer, then the chances were that they were about to do something.

"Get us away from them," she told Marcus decisively. "If we're wrong then I'll clear the speeding fines with Harry."

"You really want to sit through that 'more haste, less speed' speech of his?"

Ruth shrugged and settled herself back into her seat. "Just do it."

Ruth felt the acceleration of the car as the officer put his foot down and attempted to put some distance between them and the following car.

She glanced in what she hoped was a reassuring way at Azhar.

"There is a problem?" he asked her, turning in his seat and trying to get a better look at the car that was on their tail.

"It's just a precaution," she told him.

She glanced out of the window to her right again and looked at the flashes of light from the motorway; wishing that they were up amongst the late evening traffic. The motorway was relatively clear of the fog, whilst they were making their way through a heavy bank of it, the headlights barely lighting up more than a few feet in front of the car.

A powerful light washed over the backseat and edged its way forward. Ruth didn't need to turn round to know that it was the headlights from the other car as they drew closer. She bit down on her lower lip, trying to prevent herself from urging Marcus to drive faster. She knew he was concentrating on the road. With a jammer in operation, his GPS would be out of action as well and her remarks would only be another distraction.

"This precaution of yours," Azhar questioned. "Do you think it's going to work?"

Ruth smiled weakly at him. "It's not far to the next motorway junction. I'm…I'm sure it will be fine."

* * *

**Thames House – 2202 Friday 13****th**** January**

Malcolm's eyes widened and he pushed his chair across to the monitoring position again. He frowned as he failed to spot the tracker. "Hmmm," he mused and tapped in a couple of commands. "This really is most odd."

"What's happened?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Probably nothing more than another shoddy tracker. I've told Harry time and time again that we really need to change supplier. It's getting so that you have to put a back-up on every car you send out."

Ros raised her head from her work again. "And have you?" she enquired.

Malcolm's fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. "Of course. Be prepared, that's what my mother always taught me."

"Malcolm that was the motto of the Scouts." Ros told him drily.

"I know…she used to be one."

Ros and Jo exchanged glances, neither one wanting to be the one to ask Malcolm to explain the statement.

Shaking her head slightly in disbelief, Jo turned her attention back to the screen, waiting to see the secondary tracking signal appear.

"Where is it?" she asked after a short while. She turned her head and met Malcolm's worried expression.

"I'm not picking up anything," he admitted. "Either from the back up or their phones."

"What?" There was a tinge of fear in Jo's voice.

Ros motioned for her to be calm. "Is this something we should be worrying about, or are we once again suffering because this organisation chooses to rely upon material supplied by the lowest bidder?"

"I think this is something to be concerned about," he said quietly as he tried again to get a response from the tracking equipment.

"Try and raise Ruth on the phone," Ros instructed Jo calmly, "Let's make sure that there's actually something wrong, before we start to do anything that we'll have to sit down in Harry's office and justify later."

Jo darted back to her desk and lifted the receiver.

Ros kept her attention focussed on Malcolm. "Nothing?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Nothing, it's as though they've just vanished off the face of the Earth."

"No response from Ruth's mobile," Jo's voice confirmed. "Call's going straight through to voicemail."

Ros exchanged glances with her colleagues. "Red flash Harry. Let's get to the bottom of this."

* * *

**A40 – 2207 Friday 13****th**** January**

The black Lexus crashed through the undergrowth, headlights lighting up the densely packed woodland as it continued on its way down towards the bottom of the bank. It ploughed headfirst into the frozen trees, the bonnet crumpling on impact, metal twisting as though it were nothing but paper; the throaty roar of the engine dying and being replaced by the enveloping silence of the woodland.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Huge thanks to everyone for the reviews. I appreciate you taking the time to write. I was hoping that the flashbacks in part one were going to work but I was a little nervous about using them. Without further ado....part 2_**

* * *

**A40 – 2215 Friday 13****th**** January**

She could hear nothing but the sound of her own stilted breathing. The steady rumble of the car along the road had vanished, to be replaced by an almost oppressive silence.

She struggled to work out what was going on; her brain desperately trying to make sense of the world around her. There was a sickening pain in her right leg and a throbbing ache in her head. The side of her face felt wet and sticky. What was she doing here, wherever here was? Why was everything in blackness? Demands for answers threatened to overwhelm her but she tried to force down the panic that was rising in her chest. Deep breaths, she told herself. Deep calming breaths.

The images came to her in flashes; the car on the road and the awkward silence between herself and Azhar; the car behind them and the loss of the mobile signal…the car gaining on them... They had been forced off the road…The driver had told her to hold on tight and then everything had gone into a strange kind of slow motion – the car ploughing through trees and undergrowth, shouts and yells and then silence.

She tried to move her head and felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She closed her eyes and prayed that the spinning feeling would soon stop. She was still in the car. Instinct told her that she had to get out of the car and find out where they were.

Before she could move, a powerful beam of light washed over her and her initial feeling of hope was quickly replaced by fear. The rear doors were yanked open and the previously still air was suddenly filled with barking commands and the blinding beam of a torch shone directly into her face. She couldn't make out anything that the urgent harsh voices were shouting. She could hear Azhar calling out, asking what was going on and she could hear the screech of metal upon metal as someone fought to open the driver's door.

Ruth felt hands grabbing her arms and hauling her out into the biting cold air; her body protested immediately at the movement; messages flooding her brain telling her that things were not right. Her right leg felt as though it was on fire and she seemed to not be moving under her own steam. Her body convulsed and she retched; her muscles cramping in her stomach and her head now thundering with pain as a result.

She struggled to work out what was going on but could make out nothing in the confusion.

The powerful white beam of a flashlight shone in her face and she tried to turn her head away from it, blinking rapidly against the light that burned into her eyes.

A hand grabbed her jaw and shook her head until she felt as though her teeth were going to rattle in their sockets. The man holding her chin grunted something she couldn't make out to the man holding the torch, and moments later the beam was lowered.

She felt his breath on her face as he leant in and shouted something. Through the fog that clouded her brain she was unable to work out anything clearly. The words were repeated again and again until she finally began to piece them together.

"Who are you?"

"...Translator..." she finally forced the word out.

"Translator?"

"Other passenger…speaks no English."

"Shit!"

The hand left her face and she heard the man turn away.

She followed him with her eyes as he proceeded to gather three of the party together. She could hear only snatches of their conversation. She felt her head drifting forward and was immediately shaken by the man holding her.

She blinked and watched as Marcus, the driver, was pulled from the front of the car. He looked to be in a great deal of pain.

She wanted to reassure herself that he was ok, but was unable to make eye contact with him as, without warning, she was turned round and pushed against the side of the car. Her coat was torn from her shoulders before she could protest and then she was roughly checked to see what else she was carrying. Instinct told her to flinch away from the search, but she closed her eyes and forced herself to remain still – don't give them any reason to hit you – the words of the training instructor ran through her head.

The group, it seemed, had made their decision. She was ushered forward, back up the bank. She tried to move, but her right leg wouldn't support her weight and she sank towards the ground; her system overwhelmed with the messages of pain that were reaching it.

The world became nothing more than a blur of activity. Hands grabbed her right arm and she was moved up the bank towards a white panel van that was sat idling at the side of the road.

* * *

**Thames House – 2350 Friday 13****th**** January**

Harry stared round at the other occupants of the meeting room. His relief at being given an excuse to escape an exceedingly dull dinner with other senior officials had quickly vanished as he was informed of the reason for the red flash. He pulled at his bowtie, attempting to loosen the stranglehold it appeared to have on his neck.

"What information do we have so far?"

Jo pushed a copy of a report across the table in Harry's direction.

"We've intercepted some traffic from the local police. A black Lexus bearing the same registration plates as the car we used to transport Azhar al-Hassan has been found in a ditch on the A40 near Tetsworth."

Harry turned to look at Jo. "Any news on the occupants of the car?" his tone was neutral but Jo knew the question he was really asking.

She skimmed through the message on the printout in front of her. "One male fatality confirmed at the scene. White male, believed to be the driver of the vehicle." She looked up apologetically. "No more details than that at the moment."

Harry pulled a face. "When they say fatality, do they indicate whether or not the crash was the cause of death?"

Jo shook her head. "There's no detail at all at the moment. I'm checking the usual sources, but no-one has any information."

"I want answers to that as soon as you can get them."

"Right."

"As there are no other reports of anyone else at the scene we have to surmise that either Ruth and al-Hassan are making their way across country to find help, or they've been spirited away by parties unknown," Harry summed up the situation. "At this stage I think it best to assume the worst. Ros, the list that Ruth prepared detailing the possible threats to our recent visitors, I want you to go through it and find out where our most likely suspects have been spending the evening. Jo, get onto the local police; I don't want anything at the scene touched by the plods until we've had a chance to look at it for ourselves." He glanced at his watch. "Shake Adam and Zaf into life. I want them out at that crash site as soon as possible. If there's anything out there, then I want it found, preferably while it's still of some use to us"

* * *

**Crash site A40 – 0200 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Adam slammed the door of the car and made his way towards the taped off area ahead of him, pushing his hands deep into his pockets as he was blasted by the chill night air.

"Sorry sir," a uniformed officer moved to block his path, one arm raised to try and ward him away from the area.

"Your boss should have told you we were coming," Adam told him flatly, pulling his I.D from his pocket and holding it up.

The uniformed officer squinted and grabbed hold of the bottom of the card, trying to angle it so that the light from the lamppost above him illuminated it.

"Sorry sir," the officer apologised as he let go of the pass and immediately reached forward, lifting the tape for Adam to pass under. "If there's anything you want…." he let the sentence trail off.

"Thanks, I'll let you know."

Adam walked slowly across the carriageway, his eyes scanning the surface of the road, looking to see if there was any evidence of recent tyre marks, or any scattered fragments from a smashed rear light. The police report had suggested that the car had been forced off the road, but as far as he could see, there was no evidence to support that theory. He stepped up onto the kerb and tried to block out the steady rumble of traffic from the motorway that ran alongside the, now deserted A road.

Zaf joined him moments later and the pair of them looked down the steep muddy embankment towards the twisted wreckage of the Lexus.

"It looks like these guys knew what they were doing," Zaf noted. "This is a quiet stretch of road; if it hadn't have been for a late finishing shift worker, then the chances are that no-one would have seen the car for hours."

Adam nodded. "From what Malcolm's said about the disappearing trackers, I'm betting that they used a jammer to knock out the phones and the GPS before making their move."

"How did they get it off the road though? Playing shunt against a well-trained driver isn't the most reliable way to go about things."

Adam placed a foot on the frozen ground. "Let's get down there and take a look."

* * *

**Thames House – 0230 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Harry raised his head from his work as he heard a measured knock on the door. Ros was standing in the doorway, a handful of paper clutched in one hand. He beckoned her in.

"What have you found?"

Ros frowned as she took a seat across from him. "So far there's nothing from the list that Ruth left."

"So you're in here because?"

"Because I decided to widen the search arc whilst I was waiting for the initial searches to complete themselves," Ros answered smoothly. "al-Hassan's name crops up in some unlikely places. It would appear that we weren't the only department keeping an eye on him."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Who else has been expressing an interest in the activities of al-Hassan?"

Ros handed him the results of her search.

"I didn't recognise any of these tags; I thought they might mean something to you," she explained, watching as Harry's eyes narrowed. "I take it that they do mean something to you?"

"I've got a meeting to arrange," Harry announced abruptly, pushing his chair away from the table and rising to his feet. "I'll be back later."

Ros watched him go and couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for whoever was about to be on the receiving end of this particular visit.

* * *

**Crash site A40 – 0240 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Zaf looked at the mangled remains of the front of the car.

"Looks as though the driver didn't stand a chance."

Adam moved round to the back of the car and knelt down, shining a torch across the rear bumper.

"Doesn't look as though there was any contact between the vehicles; no obvious signs of paint or scratch marks."

"So what drove them off the road?" Zaf continued with the train of thought. "The car was obviously still moving at some speed when it left the road." He glanced down at Adam. "I guess that counts out some sort of EM pulse."

"Not necessarily," Adam countered rising back to his feet and turning to look back up at the steep embankment. "The car's trying to pull away from its pursuer, there's heavy fog…perhaps he swerves to avoid something in the road and….bam….that's when it gets hit with the pulse...The car was out of control by the time it was coming down the embankment. The driver would have been experienced enough to deal with that…something had to have happened to the car."

Zaf let out a long breath. "What were they doing taking this route? Why come off the motorway in such poor visibility?"

"That's the problem when you get a diligent driver who goes by the rules," Adam remarked. "In these circumstances I would have conveniently forgotten the rule book and followed the most direct route, wasting as little time as possible."

Zaf raised the torch that he was carrying and passed it over the crumpled remains of the back of the car. The rear doors were open - the door on the driver's side hanging awkwardly as the frame had buckled under the impact.

"You think they walked away from it?"

Adam pulled a face and shone his own torch over a section of the footwell. A dark reddish brown stain was visible upon the pale interior flooring.

"Whoever was seated here didn't completely escape without injury." He let his torch pass across the rest of the car's interior. "With the speed at which it crashed, I'd say it's more than likely that we're looking at injuries being received by both rear passengers."

"That's not a comforting thought."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

"Sir?"

Adam turned his head at the approach of one of the uniformed officers.

"Would you follow me sir, we think we've found something."

Adam exchanged a look with Zaf and then indicated that the officer should show them the way.

Picking his way through the undergrowth, the uniformed PC led them away from the car and towards a small heap of objects that had been partially buried.

The officer let the beam of his torch play over the discovery.

"We wondered if you knew anything about these sir?"

Adam knelt down at the edge of the small collection of belongings and, careful not to touch anything, gave them a quick inspection.

He glanced back up to the man holding the torch.

"It's a good find. Get your SOCO over here."

"Sir."

Adam waited for the man to move away.

"Is there something keeping you?"

The officer looked at the bundle on the floor and then back at Adam.

"You won't touch anything....will you?"

Adam's eyes widened.

"Are you questioning my professionalism?"

The officer began to look nervous.

"It's not that sir...it's just...."

"Your boss told you not to trust us, right?" Adam guessed the dilemma that the officer was facing. "Well what if I put my hand on my heart and promise not to touch anything and you run along like a good man and do as I've asked...before one of my colleagues is murdered!" Adam spat the final words out, not making an effort to hide his frustration.

"Sir," the officer replied nervously and turned and headed back off through the undergrowth.

Zaf moved round so that he could get a better look at the bundle of clothing, bringing the beam of the torch he was carrying round to bear on it.

"It's Ruth's coat," he confirmed, frowning as he watched Adam pick a stick up from the ground and begin lifting up the corner of the coat. "What are you doing?"

"I want to know what else they've left here...If there's anything here that identifies al-Hassan, then I don't want the plods getting their hands on it. It may take some time to get them to leave things to us...in the meantime I don't want the world and his wife to be able to intercept information about al-Hassan." Adam tilted his head to one side and peered beneath the coat, catching sight of a mobile phone and wallet. "Gotcha." He glanced up at Zaf. "Don't suppose you've got a bag on you I could use?"

**

* * *

****Littleton Farm ****0300 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Ruth shivered in the cold of the dimly lit room, watching as her breath dissipated in the air. The events of the last few hours were nothing but a confused haze in her mind.

She struggled to order her thoughts but she found herself unable to concentrate long enough to form a cohesive picture of what was going on.

She'd been in a crash; that much she knew. But for some reason she also knew that the crash wasn't a straightforward accident.

Her head was thumping painfully, her left wrist was throbbing, and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep.

She felt someone tug on her arm. She shrugged off the hand and let her eyes drift shut.

The tug on her arm came again and she forced her eyes open; staring straight ahead and fighting against a wave of nausea that washed over her.

"Are you alright?"

Ruth recognised the concerned tones of Azhar.

"I can honestly say that I've felt better," she muttered.

She tried to turn her head to face Azhar but was almost overwhelmed by the feeling of nausea. She leant her head back against the cool stone of the wall and closed her eyes again. The side of her head ached and there was now a tight feeling accompanying the wetness near her right temple. She raised a hand to the source of the wetness and was unsurprised when the hand came away coated with blood. There was, she realised, the reason for the nausea and dizziness.

"You must stay awake," Azhar persisted. If they think you are weak they will kill you."

Ruth forced her eyes open and looked down at her right leg; blood was congealing around the tear in her long skirt. "I'm in no condition to make a run for it," she hissed. "If that's what you were thinking."

Azhar shook his head and motioned for her to be quiet. "We have to stay strong." He took her hands and pressed them tightly. "You have to stay conscious." He paused, waiting for some response. "You must do this. They will be back soon."

Ruth forced herself to concentrate and ignore the now stabbing pain in her left wrist; she could feel herself starting to drift, the world becoming hazy around the edges. She screwed her eyes shut for a few seconds, waiting for the feeling to pass.

There was a sense of urgency in Azhar's tone and she wanted to assure him that she understood the seriousness of the situation. She opened her mouth to reply but then promptly shut it again as another wave of nausea washed over her.

"You have to stay with me," he told her firmly. "You pass out and they'll reason that you're more of a liability than a help." He held her hands tightly within his own. "They will be able to find another translator," he warned her. "In this matter you are entirely replaceable."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Many thanks for the reviews. I've had so much fun writing it; it's always nice to hear that it's readable. _****_Here's another part to tide you over until next week._**

* * *

**Thames House - 0600 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Jo closed her eyes in an attempt to ease the burning, dry feeling that came with working through the night. She felt strangely detached from what was going on in the meeting room. Adam and Zaf had been explaining their discoveries, and Jo had had to force herself to concentrate on what was going on. Her body was telling her that it was time to rest, but she knew that that just wasn't an option. She screwed her eyes shut and then opened them again just as Ros picked up on something Adam had said.

"Why keep Ruth alive?" Ros questioned. "Terrorists aren't exactly well known for offering lifts to stranded motorists. They killed the driver of the car without compunction...A single bullet to the back of the head. Why not do the same to Ruth?"

"I'm sure we're all grateful that they didn't!" Adam remarked pointedly.

Ros met his gaze. "That goes without saying," she told him coldly. "But you have to admit that it does raise a very interesting point. Why didn't they just kill and dump Ruth at the scene? What value did she have to them?"

Zaf shrugged his shoulders. "She's a member of the security services...A possible bargaining chip?"

Adam shook his head. "No, they'd know that we'd never negotiate. There would be no value to keep her as a hostage. Ros has a valid point. To take her with them would only make their venture more risky. She has to be useful to them in some way."

"A woman travelling with the group might make them less suspect at any roadblock," Jo suggested.

"It's possible." Adam conceded, less than convinced with the explanation. "I think we need to take a closer look and find out what we can about this group." He turned to Ros. "I take it you've had no more luck with the list that Ruth drew up?"

Ros shook her head. "Nothing. If any of these groups had any interest in Abdul-Latif Zebari or al-Hassan, it looks as though they've been beaten to the punch by someone else."

Adam considered Ros's answer for a moment.

"I want to know just how many people were aware of the route that the car was due to take and who was supposed to be in it."

"The car was a pool car and the driver was seconded from Special Branch," Malcolm supplied the information. "The route would have been supplied to the driver when he was tasked with the job."

"Who drew up the route?" Ros was the first with the question.

Malcolm pulled a face. "I'm trying to find that out at the moment but I'm not meeting with much success. Our friends seem rather keen to keep that piece of information to themselves. Naturally they're not amused that we are suggesting that someone in their department is leaking information."

"If you think that someone needs a little persuading to give up the information..." Adam let the sentence tail off.

"Thank you," Malcolm told him gratefully. "I'll give them one more chance to offer up the details voluntarily and then I may well take you up on your offer."

"Just how long is the list of people who wish Abdul-Latif Zebari harm?" Zaf enquired.

Ros slid a copy of the printout across the table. "Ruth came up with a list of possibles. Zebari is a force for change in his country; there are quite a few people who are worried by the speed at which he wants this change to happen."

"Shouldn't we get word to him and warn him?" Jo queried, but Adam shook his head.

"At the moment this matter is safely under wraps. We start letting anyone else know about it and we risk it getting out of hand. At this stage we don't want to do anything that might push our kidnappers towards simply dumping what they have and moving on."

"What we really need right now is something to go on," Zaf complained. "Someone must have seen something."

"...or heard something," Malcolm added as he drew a clear plastic bag from his pocket and placed it down in front of him. Within it was a small disc. "I have a little something else to bring to the table," he told them quietly. "I took a look at the clothing that was brought back from the crash site. I found this sewn into the lining of the jacket that al-Hassan was wearing."

Adam met his gaze. "And you were thinking of keeping this to yourself?"

Malcolm looked apologetic. "I was hoping that I'd get the chance to speak to Harry first...this could prove to be more than a little embarrassing."

Adam frowned. "How so?"

Malcolm lifted the bag from the table and turned it over. He indicated a small mark on the base of the bug.

"This device is of a type that is favoured by certain...departments." He glanced round at the group, making sure that they understood the message. "Certain Government departments."

Ros was the first to react and took the plastic bag from Malcolm's hands. She examined it closely before handing it back.

"So it's entirely possible that 6 were listening in to everything that was going on as well?"

Malcolm nodded. "It's too tenuous a link to go to them with and demand answers, but yes, I think it likely that they were the ones who planted the device. They made no secret of their interest in al-Hassan's boss. What better way to keep an eye on him than use one of his supernumeraries as a tracker."

Zaf shook his head. "But that's banking on al-Hassan staying with the minister the whole time." He glanced round at the others. "Can we really suggest that 6 had anything to do with the crash?"

"Ros, is there anyone you could contact to try and find out what's going on?" Adam queried.

"I ask questions within the department and people are going to know we suspect them," Ros paused and considered the matter. "If we're believing that al-Hassan was taken by someone outside the list of suspects that Ruth drew up then there are a few cages I can rattle, a few favours I can call in."

"We need to know if 6 had anything to do with this, and we need to know fast." Adam reminded her. "Malcolm, can you double check and find out who else favours this particular brand of bug. I don't want to go accusing anyone at 6 of something if it transpires that it has nothing to do with them."

"I'm on it," Malcolm told him, rising to his feet.

"Zaf; I want you to get the route of the escort car from Malcolm and find me all the footage you can from last night. They must have been picked up somewhere along the line on CCTV or security cameras. I want to find out who else was on the road and get them checked out....I know it's a long shot, but we've got to try everything. There are already alerts issued in all the usual places, but if they are planning on staying close to home, I want to get on their tail as soon as possible." Adam looked at the tracker on the table. 'I think I'd better give Harry a ring. I think he's going to want to know about this."

* * *

**Whitehall Court – 0800 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Harry tried his best to conceal his impatience as he sat and waited for Oliver Mace to put in an appearance. Despite the fact that he had membership to the club, he could never honestly say that he felt comfortable there. There was something about the smell of old money and the association of old school ties that unsettled him. He shifted his weight in the leather armchair and glanced at his watch again. He'd give Mace another five minutes and then, protocol be damned, he was going straight to his office. He'd spent the early hours of the morning clashing swords with various department heads; trying to get a straight answer to the questions he was asking. Every spluttered denial and outraged reaction only served to make him more suspicious. Harry felt as though everyone had been expecting his call and had planned for it.

"Harry," there was the familiar tone of welcome in Mace's voice that Harry could never bring himself to trust in.

He rose to his feet and held out his hand cordially to greet Mace who was striding across the room.

"It's good of you to find the time to see me."

Mace affected an expression of hurt. "Harry, I called you as soon as your message reached me."

"Of course Oliver; that's why I was able to talk to almost everybody else before you deigned to return my call."

"You do me a disservice," Mace told him smoothly. "Now, pardon me for asking, but what exactly do you think that I can do for you at this ungodly hour?"

"Unless you've been sleeping under a rock for the past 12 hours, you must have heard about the disappearance of Azhar al-Hassan."

"Must I?" Mace queried; the tone in his voice making it clear what he thought about the accusation. "And who precisely is Azhar al-Hassan?"

Harry gritted his teeth; not in the mood to go through the steps of this particular dance.

"There were only a handful of people who were supposed to know that Abdul-Latif Zebari and Azhar al-Hassan were in the country. I know that for a fact that you were one of those people; would it be too much to hope that the information you received stayed within your office?"

"What are you implying?"

"The car carrying al-Hassan was deliberately run off the road last night in an operation that was as simple as it was effective. For it to have succeeded in the way that it did, certain information; certain supposedly _private_ information must have been leaked. What I want to know Oliver is if any of that information found its way out of your office and into the waiting laps of some terrorist group?"

"Be very careful what you're saying Harry," Mace warned, his tone hardening.

"Oh I'm being very careful," Harry assured him. "So far I've managed to avoid mentioning this incident and your name in a conversation with the PM."

Mace let out a sharp bark of a laugh. "You honestly think that I would muddy the waters of my office with such a trivial affair?"

Harry leant in towards Mace. "That car was carrying one of my officers, not to mention the aide of a foreign Government official. I would say that the matter was anything other than trivial. I want to know why al-Hassan would be the target of such an action and I want to know why 6 had such an interest in him?"

Mace looked at Harry with amusement.

"You think that 6 would care for the fate of someone of as little consequence as al-Hassan?"

Harry drew Ros's printout from the inside of his coat and pushed it into Mace's chest. "If they have so little interest in someone of 'so little consequence,' then pray explain why their mucky fingerprints can be found all over his file, and also explain why he has been the subject of an investigation?"

Mace looked evenly at Harry.

"You look tired. If I were you I'd go home and get a few hours sleep before you start throwing accusations around."

"I will not have my section or my officers being used as some sort of patsy for any dirty work that 6 are involving themselves in."

"You really must learn the art of distancing yourself from your work Harry," Mace told him, affecting an air of concern. "Wouldn't want people to think that you were getting too attached to members of your team." He paused. "Just who exactly did you entrust with this 'important' job?"

"If it came to a list of people's opinions that I valued Oliver, I can assure you that your name would be somewhere near the bottom," Harry growled beneath his breath. "If I find out that you had anything whatsoever to do with this matter, then trust me Oliver, you will get everything that is coming to you...and I do mean everything. Every little misdemeanour you've ever committed, every toe that you've ever placed over the line. I will come for you Oliver and there will be nowhere to hide."

"I do believe that is a threat Harry!"

"You're damn right." Harry turned on his heel and began to walk away. He had only taken two paces when he felt Mace's hand close over his arm.

"Azhar al-Hassan is too small a fish to concern yourself with Harry."

"So you do know something about it?"

"I'm saying nothing of the sort," Mace told him coolly. "But I was serious about your obvious attachment to certain members of your team Harry. It will come back to haunt you."

Not bothering to acknowledge Mace, Harry made his way out of the room and down the high vaulted hallway, his footsteps echoing off the polished marble floor.

* * *

**Bromfelde Road SW4 – 1000 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Ros yawned and glanced lazily at her watch as she heard the sound of the front door opening. She had been waiting with a feeling of growing impatience for the past hour. Now perhaps she could get some information; assuming of course that the opening of the front door didn't simply herald the arrival of the cleaner.

She was hoping that Peter Henderson would be able to provide her with a few answers. He was tolerated by the officers at 6 because, on occasion, he could be relied upon to deal with certain matters that the Government didn't want to be seen dealing with. If information was to be leaked, then he was an obvious outlet. He had the contacts and more importantly the complete lack of conscience that was required. She'd used up one of her remaining favours at 6 to obtain his address and hoped that she hadn't wasted what could turn out to be very valuable currency.

She shifted slightly in her seat, knowing that the first impression was always the most important and watched as the door slowly opened.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd skipped the country," she called out icily, suppressing a smile as Henderson jumped in shock at her presence.

"What the hell..." Henderson quickly recovered his composure and strode across the room, his body language immediately switching to a more aggressive stance, his fists clenching at his sides.

"There's no need to get excited," Ros told him coolly, staring down at her nails; refusing to raise her head and acknowledge the man towering over her.

"How did you get in?" his eyes whipped back in the direction of the front door.

Ros slowly raised her eyes and her lips curled into a slight smile.

"Well I didn't come down the chimney!"

"I have an alarm."

"Very wise in a neighbourhood like this."

The man swore beneath his breath.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't just toss your ass out onto the pavement?"

"You won't try because you're too interested in hearing why I'm here," Ros told him calmly.

"And why are you here?

"Because you know about the men who have taken Azhar al-Hassan and I want to know everything you know about them."

The man laughed. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

"No...Mr Henderson...I take you for someone with a sub-standard security system but a someone with the intelligence to understand a good deal when he hears one." Ros paused and regarded him levelly. "I am authorised to offer you a deal if it turns out that you could aid in the recovery of al-Hassan."

The man held her gaze for a few seconds before breaking it and seating himself in the chair across from her.

"What makes you think that I know anything?"

"Would I go to the trouble of breaking into your house and helping myself to, what is I have to say, pretty average coffee if I was on nothing more than a simple fishing trip? Don't waltz me around Henderson; I know all the steps, I just don't have time for the dance."

Ros watched as Henderson's eyes widened. She'd struck gold, of that she was certain. It had been a bluff on her part, but one that appeared to have paid off. She despised Henderson and everything he stood for; it angered her to think that she would have to make a deal with a man who was willing to sell out anyone for a price. Azhar al-Hassan however was an embarrassing loss to the department and the sooner he could be returned to his people, the better.

She brushed a hand across her jeans, wiping away an imaginary speck of dust and pushed her personal feelings to one side.

"Tell me what you know about the whereabouts of al-Hassan."

"What do I get for telling you anything?" Henderson sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

"You get to keep both your kneecaps for a start," she smiled at him. "Oh there are a lot of people out there with scores to settle with you 'Mr' Henderson. It would be more than a little unfortunate for you if some of those parties were to discover where you lived." She ignored the expression of anger on his face. "You've seen how easily I was able to get past your so-called security system. Just imagine what some of the people you've betrayed in the past few years would do to you if they managed to get in."

Henderson's face was red with anger.

"I've got protection," he snarled at her. "I've got a promise from the Government that they'll look after me."

Ros smiled at him. "And I've got carte blanche from the very same Government to get this problem sorted with the minimum of fuss. You scratch my back Henderson, and I'll do my best to ensure that no-one gets to stick a knife in yours. All I want is a little information; a little co-operation. Now that shouldn't be too hard...should it?"

* * *

**Underground Garage - 1200 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Zaf shivered as he stepped inside the white-painted walls of the garage.

"What have you got for me?" he asked as he hunched down further into his coat.

He glanced at the crumpled remains of the black Lexus and hoped that he wasn't talking to himself. Moments later, Malcolm emerged from behind the car.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"There's good news?"

Malcolm pulled a face. "Not exactly." He picked his clipboard off of the roof. "The car had been valeted before being issued to the Special Branch officer, but there are still too many forensic traces for it to be of use in narrowing down a suspect."

"Well it was something of a long shot," Zaf admitted philosophically.

"I know that," Malcolm told him. "The forensic boys have been telling me exactly how much of a long shot it was....in great detail."

"They don't tend to do anything unless it's in great detail. I take it you told them why you wanted it done?"

Malcolm nodded. "That was the only reason they agreed to do it at short notice on a Saturday morning in the first place." He flipped the top sheet on the clipboard over and ran his finger down the second page. "You were right about a short range EM pulse though."

"Really?"

"Uh huh. Electrics were knocked out on the car prior to the accident. The car would have been out of the driver's control by the time it mounted the kerb. From the marks on the road at the scene, it looks as though the Special Branch officer was attempting an evasion technique when the device was activated. It's the only way they can explain why the car left the road."

Zaf's eyes were automatically drawn to the patch of blood that was still visible in the rear seat well behind the driver. He tried not to think of what the blood might mean.

* * *

**Thames House – 1400 Saturday 14****th**** January**

"Somewhere in this building we have a wagging tongue," Ros announced as she took her seat in the meeting room. "Local lowlife often used by 6 knew all about al-Hassan, right down to the fact that the car would be taking an indirect route."

Harry adjusted his tie. "I had a rather illuminating meeting with Oliver Mace this morning. He didn't say as much but I'd put money on the fact that the information came from his department."

Zaf shook his head. "What could they possibly have to gain from the disappearance of someone like al-Hassan?" He flicked through the documents on the desk in front of him. "From what there is in his file, he's not what you'd call a leading light."

Harry glanced down at the copy of the file in front of him.

"There is something about this that just doesn't add up. Jo, I want you to pull everything you can about Azhar al-Hassan. Go through every record you can find; I want to know everything there is to know about him; school records, where he went on holiday as a child, how many lengths of the swimming pool he can manage…everything."

Adam frowned. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that maybe it wasn't Abdul-Latif Zebari who was the intended target after all."

Ros nodded. "Henderson didn't question the name once. I was expecting him to correct me, but he never did."

Zaf looked between the two of them. "al-Hassan…the target? What could he possibly know? He's a functionary. His entire purpose of being on this visit seemed to be to get up everybody's noses."

"He obviously knew something to warrant him being snatched from under our very noses. I want every avenue explored. We can't discount him entirely until we know everything there is to know about him." Harry gestured with distain towards the file on the table. "For all I know this is just copied from his Wikipedia entry!"

"I'll get on it," Jo assured him.

"Anything from the examination of the car?"

Zaf frowned. "Nothing helpful at the moment, aside from the fact that they had access to a localised EM pulse generator. Malcolm's liaising with the guys down in forensics. The Met aren't very pleased at losing what they see to be 'their car'. We can expect a few calls from them."

"I think we all know just where we can route those calls," Harry replied. "Anything with the CCTV yet?"

Zaf shook his head. "I've got teams scanning through everything we've been able to lay our hands on but there's been no sighting of the car yet."

"So far we've managed to keep the disappearance of al-Hassan from Zebari," Harry informed the others. "I think it's about time that we came clean."

Adam let out a low whistle. "That's not going to go down well."

"It's going to go a lot better than him reading about it in one of the red tops."

"You really think that they'd report it?"

"Someone leaves a file on a train and the whole country is up in arms...I rather think that they'll go to town if it comes to light that we've lost a person!" Harry replied drily.

* * *

**Littleton Farm - 1600 Saturday 14****th**** January**

The walls of the room looked as though they hadn't seen a fresh lick of paint in years. Damp had caused the paintwork to crack, and it now fell from the wall in jagged, flaking shards. There had once been a shade covering the single light that hung from a short flex in the centre of the ceiling, but it had long since fallen away, and harsh shadows were cast upon the walls from the naked bulb that swung slowly in the draught.

"Ask him."

Ruth tried to ignore the incessant pounding of her head and swallowed hard as another wave of nausea washed over her.

"Ask him." The question was repeated, the man's tone growing rapidly impatient.

Ruth wanted nothing more than to look away from Azhar; he was seated across the table from her, two men flanking him on either side. She knew that his eyes were searching out hers; looking for some kind of confirmation that everything was going to be alright.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head so that she was looking at the table in front of her, her eyes staring intently at the scratches and grooves that marked the rough wooden surface.

This was the second time that they had both been dragged into the room, and the second time that she had been made to sit across from Azhar. She knew what was coming and wished for nothing more than to be somewhere else.

She sensed movement from next to her and moments later a hand was wound in her hair, pulling tightly on it until she was forced to raise her head. Automatically, she reached to stop the action and had to bite back the cry of pain as her left hand was knocked away.

"Ask him for the number," the man growled, moving so close that she could feel the heat of his breath in her ear. "Ask him for the number or tell him that we're going to start breaking more bones."

Ruth stiffened.

"Oh I mean it," the man whispered in her ear, a smile spreading slowly across his face. "Now ask him for the number."

Ruth's head was pushed forward as he released his grip. He took a seat next to her and regarded her as she struggled to regain her composure

"He doesn't know what you're talking about," she protested.

"Oh yes he does. All we want is the number and location of the safety deposit box and then we can all be out of here and on our way."

Ruth remained silent, her gaze still focussed intently on the table in front of her.

"Tell him."

"I... I can't," she protested quietly.

"Can't or won't?"

There was a long silence.

"You... can't do this..." she finally spoke up. "I don't know who you think he is, but he can't tell you anything."

"I think you'll find that we **can** do this."

"I won't help you."

"Then we'll do it anyway and he won't have any way of preventing it. It's a tricky one isn't it?"

Ruth raised her eyes to meet his. "And if…if he won't tell me..."

"Then we do exactly what we promised."

Ruth swallowed, wishing that there was some way out of the situation. If she maintained her silence then Azhar would be beaten again; if she relayed the questions then she felt as though she was in some way betraying him.

She heard the impatient sigh from the man next to her and knew that she didn't have a choice.

"Tell him that we'll break the fingers on his other hand if he doesn't co-operate."

The man watched as the woman shook her head. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, watching her squirm in pain as he tightened his grip on her already damaged bones. "You tell him...or it won't be **his** fingers we break." With his left hand he grabbed hold of her chin and raised her head to meet his. "It doesn't matter to Flynn whose fingers he breaks...A break is a break is a break as far as he is concerned."

He saw the defeated expression in her eyes and turned her head so that she faced Azhar.

"Tell him," he told her flatly releasing his hold on her chin and moving his hand down to grasp her left index finger. He felt her tense and in response tightened his grip on her damaged wrist and finger. "Tell him," he repeated firmly. "Or I'll do the job myself."

Ruth read the understanding in Azhar's face; he knew the threat. There was no need for her to say anything. They were on their own and there was no way out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Vauxhall Cross - 1600 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Oliver Mace watched as the dark-suited man paced back and forth in front of him. His feet made little sound upon the plush carpet, but Mace could sense the way that the man was driving his heels into the ground with every step. He swallowed nervously and hoped that his colleague was in an understanding mood.

"I thought you told me that you'd handled the al-Hassan affair personally," the man growled at him. "So imagine my surprise when reports start filtering back to me that Harry Pearce and his goons at 5 are taking more than a passing interest in his disappearance." The pacing stopped and the man turned and looked out of the window, glancing down on the busy street below. "Don't tell me that you screwed this up Oliver. That wouldn't be something that I'd like to hear."

Mace forced a smile onto his face and adjusted his tie.

"The information was passed on to our regular contact...he disseminated the information as we predicted...only..."

"Are you trying to tell me that you've been out-manoeuvred by some third-rate mouthpiece?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that," Mace objected.

"No I'm sure you wouldn't. I'm sure in your version of the world, you're actually more James Bond than Mr Bean," He spun round to face Mace. "I want this sorting Oliver. I want Harry Peace and his little army as far away from this matter as they can conceivably be. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly..." Mace paused. "There is just one thing...."

"I don't want to be hearing excuses Oliver."

"The problem is that one of Harry Pearce's team was taken along with al-Hassan."

"Yes, yes. I read about that. It was a little careless. What of it?"

"Loyalty to ones colleagues goes a long way in Harry Pearce's book."

The frown deepened. "Are you trying to tell me that you won't tell him to leave well alone?"

Mace chose his words carefully. "I'm telling you that I'm not the person who should be talking to him. A word from me is not going to be enough. This has to be an order from on high."

There was a heavy sigh. "This was supposed to be a simple, painless affair Oliver. Now you want me to go further up the tree and shake a few more branches. I don't think I need to tell you how that makes me feel?"

"I'm sorry."

"And somehow that doesn't make everything better. Harry Pearce will be told to leave well alone. That is something I will take responsibility for. You Oliver, I want you to make sure that al-Hassan, the missing officer and whatever Godforsaken group has them are quietly removed from everyone's radar and swept, without ceremony, under the carpet. This was supposed to be a way of cementing friendships Oliver, not of screwing things up out of all recognition."

Mace glanced in the direction of the suited man and realised that the meeting was at an end. He swore inwardly; it was hardly his fault that an officer from 5 had been sent along on the journey. The situation was an unfortunate one; there had been potential gains to be had but those seemed to have slipped away. All that was to be done now was to clear away the mess and carry on as before.

He rose silently to his feet and straightened his tie before heading out of the plush office.

* * *

**Thames House – 1800 Saturday 14****th**** January**

"I want a word... in my office...now."

Adam looked up from his desk as Harry passed by, delivering his message without breaking pace.

"This can't be good," he muttered to Jo as he pushed his chair back and set off after Harry.

Adam reached the office and found Harry pacing backwards and forwards across the small space.

"The disappearance of Azhar al-Hassan and one of our officers is apparently something that we should no longer be concerning ourselves with," he spat the words out.

"What?"

"We are...and I quote directly here....no longer to waste valuable resources on looking for an individual who has very little importance on an international scale."

Adam shook his head slowly. "They're not serious?"

"On the contrary, they are deadly serious."

"These are the very same people who only a few days ago jumped up and down and demanded that al-Hassan and Zebari be given the highest protection we could muster."

Harry met Adam's gaze. "We are being told that this is no longer our concern. It doesn't take too much reading between the lines to work out that there are people out there who no longer want al-Hassan alive."

"And Ruth?"

Adam asked the question, although he knew that Harry would be finding that particular issue the hardest one to square away.

He watched as Harry's head dipped.

"We do nothing," he replied quietly. "There are, I am told, unfortunate losses that we must learn to bear."

Adam looked at Harry in disbelief.

"And you accepted that!"

"What did you expect me to say Adam?" Harry growled. "This was a meeting of senior heads of the service. As far as they are concerned, Ruth is just another analyst; an easily replaceable commodity."

"Of course." Adam stopped short of apologising fully. The growing relationship between Harry and Ruth was something that everyone on the Grid knew about, but was also one that no-one would admit to knowing about in their presence.

Adam searched out Harry's gaze.

"What are we going to do about this Harry?"

Harry sank into his chair and placed his palms flat on the table.

"I can't ask any of you to continue with your investigations. I can't ask any of you to spend any time on this whatsoever."

Adam shook his head. "You can't ask us not to."

Harry met Adam's gaze.

"I'd like you to ask around. Find out who is willing to keep this investigation alive."

Adam let out a thin smile.

"I don't need to ask anyone Harry, we are all with you."

"Even Ros?"

Adam nodded, certain that he could speak for his colleague.

"Even Ros. I think you'll be surprised by her Harry."

"Sound her out all the same; the last thing I need is for one of my own to go bleating back to 6. I want to make sure that her feet are both now firmly in this camp before I ask her to start breaking direct orders from above."

"Right."

Adam was turning to leave when something made him stop.

"We'll find her Harry," he said firmly, wanting to find some way of offering reassurance.

Adam waited for some sort of response but Harry's attention had apparently returned to the files in front of him. After a few moments Harry raised his head.

"I trust you have things to be getting on with?"

"Harry..."

"Don't let me keep you."

"Har..." Adam tailed off as he realised that Harry was no longer listening to him and reluctantly exited the office.

* * *

**Littleton Farm - 2000 Saturday 14****th**** January**

The door opened and Ruth was pushed into the room, she grabbed at the table for support as her right knee buckled beneath her weight. She bit back the cry that rose in the back of her throat and closed her eyes, willing the pain to subside.

"Don't get too comfortable," the voice she had grown to hate told her firmly. "You and I need to have a little chat."

"What?..." Forcing her eyes open, Ruth looked around the room, noticing for the first time that Azhar wasn't there. She swallowed nervously and turned to face the man standing behind her. "What do you want?"

She watched as his face broke into a smile; a smile that only served to unnerve her even more.

He took a pace towards her and she struggled not to flinch. His smile widened and he stepped forward again, passing closely by her before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Do I make you nervous?" he enquired in a light tone.

Ruth moistened her lips as she considered her reply.

"I've met more than my fair share of bullies," she told him flatly.

He let out a low laugh and clapped his hands together.

"So you think me a bully?"

"Well I'm not sure what else I should call someone who breaks the bones of another... weaker... human being."

"I prefer to think of myself as a business man."

"I'm sure you do."

Ruth watched as the man sat back in his chair and folded his arms. He was staring at her and she couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious. Her leg throbbed with pain and she glanced around, looking for another chair...there wasn't one.

"It's a shame I'm a bully," the man's voice broke the silence. "Otherwise I might have offered you a seat."

"Is...Is that why you brought me in here?" Ruth questioned. "...To... play games?"

"It's an interesting theory...You think I'm playing games?"

"Well I'm thinking you didn't bring me here to pass the time of day."

"And I'm thinking that you're a little too sharp to be just a translator," the man told her as he pushed the chair back and rose to his feet. "I want to know who you really work for..." he closed the distance between them and looked down at Ruth. "Who are you?"

He was standing so close that Ruth could feel his breath upon her. She wanted to step away but her feet seemed rooted to the spot.

"The man who told us about Azhar, never told us about you. Why would that be?"

He moved slowly round to stand behind her.

Ruth shrugged, forcing herself to stare straight ahead and not flinch at the close proximity of the man. "Maybe he didn't know that Azhar needed a translator."

"Maybe he doesn't need one...Maybe you are lying?"

"That would be a pretty stupid thing to do."

"Wouldn't it just," the man told her, leaning down to whisper the words near her ear. "I'd hate to think that you were being that stupid. I might have to do something about it if I thought that you were lying."

Ruth fought to steady her breathing. She could still feel his breath on the back of her neck and wanted nothing more than to move away from the spot she was standing on.

"If he dies because you've been lying to him..." the voice tailed off.

"If he dies it'll be because you killed him," Ruth snapped back without thinking.

"No no, if he dies it'll be because you were lying."

"I've not lied."

"I wish I could believe you," the breath left the back of her neck as the man began circling again. "Do you want his death on your conscience?"

"Putting pressure on me, threatening me, doesn't make me the murderer. At the end of the day that will still be you...You're the ones making the decisions, you decide if you kill him, not me, and you are not going to make me feel guilty about it."

Ruth's head snapped to one side as the man lashed out at her.

She tasted the metallic taste of blood on the back of her throat and fought against the wave of nausea that washed over her.

"You can go too far you know," he snarled. "Remember that."

* * *

**Thames House – 2100 Saturday 14****th**** January**

"What have you got for me Jo?" Harry looked up from his work to see Jo hanging back in the corridor just outside his office.

She raised the file that she had in her hand. "There's this....but you seem..." she hunted round for the correct word. "...Busy."

He waved her into the office. "It's fine. What have you got for me?"

Jo took a tentative few steps into the office, uncertain as to whether she was doing the right thing. "It's ...well I've been looking into al-Hassan... I think you need to see this."

Harry took a deep breath and indicated the stack of files that were threatening to swamp his desk. "I'm a little busy here Jo; perhaps you would care to be a little less cryptic."

Glancing around, making sure that they were not being overheard, Jo finally began to reveal the information that she had.

"None of it adds up," she explained. "I've put al-Hassan's photo through every system that I can think of and he doesn't appear to exist."

Harry placed the file he had been reading back on the desk and gave Jo his full attention.

"I looked into all the background that the files from GCHQ provided and none of it adds up...none of it. He doesn't appear on the records of events that the files say that he attended; no-one with his name appears on the rolls of the schools that he was supposed to have graduated from. His whole background; it's all a lie."

Harry forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Be very sure what you're saying Jo," he advised her.

"I've checked and double-checked Harry; nothing about Azhar al-Hassan makes sense."

"So who is he?"

Jo shrugged her shoulders. "That's something I can't tell you. I've called in a few favours but nothing has come of it….aside from having to agree to go to dinner with a singularly objectionable man from the US Embassy."

Harry leant back in his chair and brought his hands together.

"Thank you," he spoke finally; his voice betraying no emotion.

Jo stood, uneasily shifting her weight from one foot to the other, waiting to see if Harry had anything more to say.

"If there's nothing else…" she tailed off and indicated the open door behind her. Still receiving no response from Harry she decided that it was prudent to leave him alone. Turning silently on her heel she exited the office, pulling the door across behind her.

Back out in the office she headed across to Adam's desk.

"I'm worried about Harry," she confided.

Adam looked up from his terminal and caught sight of Harry sitting motionless in his chair.

"He's under a lot of pressure."

"I know… I'm just worried that he's going to do something … inadvisable." Jo glanced around before placing the file that she was still carrying down on the desk in front of Adam.

"The information we received from GCHQ regarding Azhar al-Hassan was nothing more than an elaborately put together tissue of lies." She flipped open the file and pulled out the sheet relating to his employment. "None of the companies on the list have ever employed anyone by that name; none of the records I could find mention him anywhere and he doesn't even feature in any online photos of a truly forgettable staff party."

Adam shook his head. "So just who is this guy?"

"I've not been able to find out, but it could go some way towards explaining why he was targeted in the first place."

Adam pushed his chair back from the desk. "Someone must know who he is."

"I've put his picture through all the photo-recognition software that we have but nothing comes up."

"To go to all this trouble, he must be someone of importance." Adam rose to his feet. "Leave it with me."

"What about Harry?"

Adam took another glance towards the office. "He'll be alright Jo. He's too much of the professional to let something like this get to him."

Jo watched Adam leave and then let her own gaze turn towards the office. She wasn't so certain that Adam was right.

**

* * *

****Fulham Palace Road – 2300 Saturday 14****th**** January**

Ros glanced once again in the rear view mirror... she wasn't imagining it. The black BMW had been behind her since she had turned onto the Fulham Palace Road after crossing Putney Bridge. Whoever it was at the wheel was doing a lousy job of tailing her. She sighed heavily; she really didn't have the patience to wait until the driver decided that the road was quiet enough for him to make his move. Checking the road ahead, she braked sharply and forced the car behind her to do likewise. Wrenching open the driver's door, she climbed from the car and stalked back to confront the driver; her right hand reaching for the handgun that was holstered at the small of her back.

She drew level with the car and pulled open the driver's door, glaring in at the man behind the wheel.

"I take it that you've got a damn good reason for following me around like a bad smell?"

The driver of the black BMW looked up at her; an expression of mild amusement on his face.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to spot me."

"You weren't being very subtle," she sneered.

The man tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "I wasn't trying to be," he told her flatly. "You're with 5 now; need to make things that little bit more obvious." He raised his head and gestured towards the passenger seat. "You can either stand there hurling insults, or you can let me tell you why I followed you."

Ros pursed her lips and regarded the man for a moment.

"I of course have no way of knowing if you are who you say you are."

"Very true," he smiled at her. "How does it feel to be on the receiving end for once?" He took in her expression. "You and I need to talk about the little visit that you made to Peter Henderson this morning."

"What do you know about that?"

The smile on the man's face widened. "I can give you a transcript of the tape if you want."

He gestured towards the passenger seat again. "Please; we do need to talk and it would be far easier to do it here."

Ros acknowledged him with the merest nod of the head and headed around the vehicle.

"What do you know about al-Hassan?" Ros demanded as soon as she had taken her seat.

The black-suited man shook his head. "This isn't the part where you get to ask questions," he informed her. "I'm here to tell you that you need to back off and leave Henderson alone."

"And if I don't?"

"You might...want to consider your options before you do something as foolish as cross us."

Ros let out a short bark of a laugh. "Don't bother trying to intimidate me... it really is a waste of time."

The man took a deep breath. "All you need to know is that Henderson is ours and that you need to keep away from him."

"And yet you're not telling me why."

"There's no reason why I should, he's 6's asset and 5 have got no rights to talk to him."

Ros thought things over for a moment.

"As you would have gathered from listening in to my meeting with him this morning, I'm only interested in finding out who he passed on information about Azhar al-Hassan to. Whatever else you're doing with him, I really couldn't care less."

Ros waited for a reply. As the silence stretched out, realisation dawned. "Why are you so interested in this?"

"I can't tell you that. I'm only authorised to tell you that you'd be well advised to leave Henderson alone and to forget about al-Hassan." The man paused. "I heard that you lost an officer; I'm sorry about that, but you really don't want to go sticking your nose into this one."

Ros shrugged. "Collateral damage is par for the course in this business, we both know that. I want to know what the deal with al-Hassan is."

The man shook his head. "I can't tell you that...but for your own good...leave things alone."

Ros waited for a few moments before realising that the meeting was at an end. She climbed from the car and slammed the door behind her; hearing the engine roaring into life almost immediately and stepping away as the car slipped into gear and moved off down the street.

When the car had disappeared from view, she pulled her phone from her pocket and hit one of the speed dial options.

"Jo...It's Ros. Pull up everything you can find on Peter Henderson. He's ex-military, now does some chicken-feed work for 6. I've just had an encounter with one of our friends from 6 and he seems rather keen that we leave him alone. I want to know why."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Just a little late night introspection. I know it's only short...but there is more on the horizon.**_

* * *

**Thames House - 0200 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Harry took a mouthful of whisky and savoured the smoothness of the amber liquid. A glance at the clock on the wall told him that he really should think about calling it a night. The office was empty; Adam had left an hour earlier, but not before eliciting a promise from him that he too would make the effort to go home for at least a few hours and get some rest.

Harry raised the glass to his lips again. He couldn't go home, it felt like something akin to betrayal to even contemplate closing the door on the case until the morning...he glanced at the clock again and corrected himself...until later in the morning.

In the last three years, whenever he'd got himself involved with a case there had been someone there, at his shoulder, telling him that he should go home. He'd not always appreciated the interference, hadn't always taken the recommendation with good grace, but now he felt as though he'd give anything for there to be a gentle tap on the door accompanied by hesitant footsteps into his office.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back to lean against the cool leather of the chair. Why did it have to be Ruth? Why did he have to be the person who had sent her out on that journey? She'd not wanted to go, yet he had taken perverse pleasure in telling her that she had no choice. He had wanted to trigger some emotion from her; even if that emotion had been a negative one.

They'd been existing in a strange kind of limbo since she'd told him that she couldn't have dinner with him again. She'd tried to get out of going to Havensworth, and once there had done everything she could to keep out of his way. He wasn't sure he understood what was going through her head, and if he was completely honest with himself he wasn't entirely sure what was going through his. She'd become an important part of his life without him even realising it. She'd snuck under the radar somehow and now he found that he couldn't imagine a day at work without her being there. It seemed a natural progression somehow, to imagine her outside of work as well...but it was a step that he was cautious to make. Yes he was older than she was, yes she was undoubtedly smarter than he was - her intelligence was something that sometimes unnerved him, he didn't mind admitting that. It seemed impossible that one person could hold so much inside their head – but there was more to his uncertainty. There was the fear of failure. The fear that one wrong word, one misplaced sentence would lead to a loss of the relationship that they currently had.

Sometimes it was better to play it safe; to not take the leap of faith and to at least have something in your life that was reassuring...Now, now he was scared that he'd never get the chance to tell her how he felt. He'd never been one for 'what ifs' or 'what might have beens', but now, sitting alone in the dark of the office, and nursing the second tumbler of whisky, he wished that just once he'd had the courage to tell her how he felt.

He felt a wave of tiredness wash over him, and in that moment felt every one of his years. He wasn't sure just how they were going to do it, but they were going to bring Ruth home. One way or another they were going to bring her home.

* * *

**Littleton Farm - 0200 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Ruth shivered in the freezing air and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She leaned against the cold stone of the basement wall and wished that there was at least a little light to alleviate the darkness that surrounded her on all sides.

The patience of their captors was beginning to run out, that much had become apparent.

She worked her jaw and winced at the throb of pain from her swollen lip.

It was becoming clear that the men holding them didn't have any idea who al-Hassan was. As far as she could make out, they were under the impression that he was some sort of rich businessman with a fortune stashed away.

What hope she had clung onto since the car had been run off the road was now fading. She'd already lost track of time and understood only too well the reality of the situation. The gang who had snatched them were not well-schooled in the art of interrogation. Their efforts had been clumsy and inconsistent at best. She theorised that they had probably learnt everything they knew about interrogation techniques by watching examples in films or on television.

She feared however for the health of Azhar. The man was in pain - that much was clear. She could hear him calling to her through the wall that now divided them and wished that there was some way to shut him out. There was nothing she could do to ease his pain and listening to his laboured breathing and whimpered cries only made matters worse.

She looked down to her left and saw the ventilation brick that let Azhar's voice filter through to her.

Fleetingly, she wondered if their captors had sat in this adjoining room during their first night of captivity, listening in to their conversation and hoping to hear some exchange in English. Perhaps listening in and not understanding a word had led to them splitting them up. She doubted that they realised the effect that isolation would have, otherwise it was a technique they would have employed sooner.

Her eyes burned with tiredness and her head still throbbed angrily. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift to thoughts of the Grid. She pictured everyone seated at their desks...Harry in his office, one eye always on the work that was going on beyond the glass partition, watching his charges and making sure that none of them strayed too far over the line. Her mouth curled into a slight smile at the thought; it gave her a sense of peace to think of them all out there, working away. They would be coming to find her...wouldn't they?


	6. Chapter 6

**Thames House - 0800 Sunday 15****th**** January**

The morning was clear and crisp. All across the capital the windscreens of cars were frozen over with ice; the owners happily tucked up in bed, secure in the knowledge that this was one day of the week where they could afford to take things easy.

The city was always peaceful on a Sunday, the usually bustling streets empty and the only traffic across London Bridge a late-running night bus, taking home stragglers from a night out.

Within the walls of Thames House Zaf stifled a yawn, and watched as the others took their places at the table in the meeting room, wishing that he had more positive news for them.

"We've finally had some luck in tracing footage of the car carrying al-Hassan."

Picking up the remote he brought up the first CCTV image onto the screen.

"The Lexus was first picked up on the M25 heading towards junction 16." He clicked and changed the image. "Not far behind it was a white Ford transit. Not an unusual vehicle to see on the motorway, but this one is carrying plates that belonged to a BMW 3 Series that was stolen 6 months ago." Zaf clicked through a series images on the screen. "The transit follows the car until it reaches junction 16 and turns onto the M40 before dropping out of sight. Judging by the state of it, it looks as though it was unable to keep pace with the Lexus and just fell back. At no point does it trigger one of the many speed cameras in the area."

"Did the police have anything on possible suspects for the BMW theft?" Jo asked, shifting forward in her seat.

Zaf pulled a face. "The file was so big that it would take two people the rest of their lives to work through it."

"I take it you've assigned someone to the task?" Harry asked pointedly.

"I've got two junior officers who'll never speak to me again," Zaf confirmed. "If they come up with anything that looks even remotely useful, they'll make contact."

"What else have you got?"

Zaf changed the image on the screen again. "The only other vehicle of note is…here…at Junction 3 of the M40. This time it's a silver Mercedes C Class. Assuming it's still wearing its original plates then this car was listed as stolen 2 months ago. It looks as though the vehicle has been given a respray since its acquisition by its current owners. The Mercedes stays behind the Lexus as it leaves the M40 at junction 6 and heads onto the A40." Zaf pressed the remote again, bringing up another shot of the Lexus. "And that's where we lose it as both cars take the turn off. There are other cameras on the A40 but so far none of them have shown us any images of the Lexus."

Jo looked at the fuzzy image on the screen.

"Were you able to get an ID on any of the other cars in shot?"

Zaf nodded and the image on the screen was replaced with an even more indistinct enlargement of the top left hand corner of the original image.

"With this resolution it's impossible to get the registration plate, but from the colour and shape of the vehicle behind the Lexus when it's last seen, it's possible to identify it as a silver Mercedes C Class."

Harry frowned. "There may be a lot of them on the road but I want this looked at further."

Zaf nodded in agreement. "I'm already on it."

"Jo, what have you got?"

"Peter Henderson," Jo took possession of the remote and navigated to the image that she wanted. "He's the asset that Ros believes 6 used to make contact with whoever ran the Lexus off the road."

Harry glanced round the room. "And where is Ros this morning?"

"She's following Henderson," Adam supplied the detail. "She figures that either he'll lead her to someone, or 6 will get so frustrated that they'll overplay their hand."

Harry pulled a face. "We're not here officially," he reminded Adam. "Ros overplays **her** hand and that officer from 6 is well within their rights to go bleating up the chain of command."

"Ros knows what she's doing."

Harry regarded Adam for a second but didn't say a word. He was more than a little surprised to see just how quickly Adam was sticking up for Ros. He wasn't aware that she'd made that much of an effort to fit in as one of the team, but maybe he was just missing something.

Harry pushed the thought away and turned his attention back to Jo.

"Peter Henderson joined the Army upon leaving school at sixteen, Jo explained. "Upon passing selection he trained and served with 2nd Battalion of the Parachute regiment. He applied for selection to the SAS, but his commanding officer never put the application forward."

"And did they say why?"

"Henderson was a little too quick with his fists and loose with his tongue," Jo summarised. "It looks as though he began to get disillusioned with Army life in the mid 90's, and was eventually given a dishonourable discharge following a charge of theft of equipment from the barracks in Colchester."

"Let me guess," Adam interrupted. "Nothing could be proved but Henderson started making money pretty quickly?"

"Exactly. He worked abroad for a few years, hiring out his skills to those who were willing to pay for them, but it looks as though he finally worked out that there was a safer and more profitable way to make money."

"He sits in a nice warm house and sends others out to do the dirty work?" Adam guessed.

"You've got it in one." Jo turned her attention to the files in front of her. "6 have done a pretty good job of hiding the details, but he registered on their radar and they seemed happy to let him carry on his business as long as they profited from certain news coming their way."

"And I assume certain favours being returned," Adam tapped his pen on the table. "When you want a deniable clean skin who better to go to than a man whose living is made by providing trained killers and not asking too many questions!"

"Careful with your accusations Adam," Harry warned. "Tell Ros to take it easy with Henderson. Make sure she knows what you've found out about him. If he's in contact with the group who took al-Hassan then upsetting him could prove fatal."

"I'll talk to her," Adam promised, knowing that Harry's real concern lay with what would happen to Ruth...assuming that she was still alive.

"Do we have anything more on who al-Hassan really is?"

Zaf shook his head. "The phone and the wallet that we recovered from the scene were sent to forensics and they've not come up with anything useful. I've been working through the numbers on the phone and so far there's nothing to help us identify who al-Hassan is."

"There was a surprising lack of outrage from the embassy when I reported to them that he was missing," Harry remarked. "I got the distinct feeling that they would have been more annoyed if I'd told them that we'd lost their luggage or had been unable to get them the seats they wanted for The Sound of Music!"

"Someone out there must know who he is," Adam protested. "I asked around last night, called in a few favours, but no-one seemed to know anything."

"You think that they were looking to lose him?" Jo immediately felt a little self-conscious as all attention turned towards her. "I mean, what if Zebari didn't want him around either..." She tailed off, convinced that she had just said something incredibly foolish.

Adam exchanged a look with Harry.

"It is possible," he thought through the idea. "If Zebari was sent over here with a minder supplied by an intelligence agency then he might be wanting to be shot of him."

"And what better way to cement relationships between ourselves and Zebari than by ridding him of an irritation?"

"It would go some way towards explaining why 6 are so interested in all this, and why they've used someone like Henderson to handle the situation," Adam pointed out.

"But this hasn't been a clean kill," Zaf argued. "Why take al-Hassan from the scene of the accident? Why not kill him there like they did the driver? Rather than it being an accident, they've turned it into a kidnapping. They...whoever they are, wanted al-Hassan alive. He must have something that they want."

Before Harry could comment, the door to the meeting room opened and Malcolm entered; an envelope clutched in his right hand.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Malcolm took in the expressions on the faces of the room's occupants. "But I thought you'd want to see this straight away." He opened the envelope and withdrew a sheet of paper. "I've just had confirmation from the lab that was analysing the blood samples found in the car." Malcolm's eyes fell automatically upon Harry. "They've found a match for the DNA...it is Ruth's."

* * *

**Littleton Farm 1000 Sunday 15****th**** January**

"Are you there? ...Can you hear me?"

Ruth wished that she could tune out Azhar's voice. He had been calling through the ventilation brick on and off for the past hour.

"I'm here," she finally told him, giving in to the pleading tone in his voice.

"What have you told them?" he demanded to know. "What have you been telling them?"

"Only what you've told me," she tried to reassure him.

"Then why are they carrying on? Why are they not listening to you?"

Ruth remained silent. Those were questions that she wanted answers to as well. She leant back against the damp stone of the wall and wished that the incessant pounding in her head would cease. It had lessoned to a dull ache earlier, but now it was pounding anew.

The morning had not passed without incident. She had not long dropped off into a restless sleep when the door had opened and the room illuminated with the invasive white beam of a torch. Commands were barked, and hands had none-too-gently hauled her to her feet and taken her once again to the small room where the questioning had begun in the same relentless manner as before.

Azhar had begun to ramble. Words and phrases had become jumbled as he struggled to answer the questions and she had done her best to hide his true state from their captors. She had had enough trouble forcing her own brain to remember the correct translations. Sentences that would previously have come to her mind as second nature were now requiring thought and each stumble and hesitation she made only served to anger the man barking the questions at her. The session had ended amid raised voices and threats whispered in her ear as to what would happen to Azhar and then to herself if he failed to come through with the information that they were after.

She was beginning to suspect that the gulf between what he knew and what they thought he knew was a vast one; however telling them that they were making a mistake just wasn't an option. There was only one outcome she could think of if she was to do that...and it wasn't one that she wanted to dwell on.

"Tell them who you are," Azhar suggested, his voice distracting her from her thoughts. "Tell them who you work for...let them know the sort of reprisals they can expect."

"I don't think that would be such a wise idea," she told him honestly.

"Tell them who I am then...tell them the truth. Tell them I have things to sell."

Ruth sighed. "I have been telling them the truth."

"But not about what I have to offer. I know nothing about this number they speak of...but I can make a deal...a very profitable deal."

Ruth remained silent.

"Your friends...they will come...won't they?"

Ruth tipped her head back and stared up towards the ceiling. She was beginning to get an idea of the sort of things that Azhar had to sell. They were the sort of things that got a person killed...they were the sort of things that interested the security services and caused people to disappear. There had been an unpleasant thought forming at the back of her mind since their capture and she'd been doing her best not to dwell on it. She'd seen it done so many times before. Sometimes it was simply easier to make two people disappear than to worry about the sensibilities of one MI5 operative. It was one thing to sit in the office and read through the reports, it was another to be sat alone, cold, scared, with the only hope for rescue pinned on a department that was just as likely to abandon you as come to your rescue.

She heard Azhar begin to question her again and closed her eyes, wishing that she could tune out his voice. If she told their interrogators the things that Azhar was saying, then she could be responsible for putting a deadly amount of hardware on the streets of the capital. She couldn't let that happen...whatever the cost.

* * *

**Parkstone Estate - 1100 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Ros stifled a yawn and leant forward, resting her arms on the steering wheel, looking out through the windscreen and watching with a growing impatience the scene that was playing out in front of her. She was parked on the very edges of the sprawling Parkstone Estate, watching Henderson and wishing that she'd chosen a different pool car. If she had to follow Henderson on foot, then she wasn't convinced that the car would still be there on her return.

It had been embarrassingly easy to find and follow Henderson. He was, it appeared, a man of very definite habits.

After breakfast at a local cafe he had followed a very ordered routine of making contact with those that he relied upon for information.

Ros idly wondered just how pleased his clients would be if they were to know just how careless he was with regard to his own security.

She'd kept her eyes peeled for the officer from 6, but so far he'd not put in an appearance or made any effort to keep her away from Henderson. She had been half expecting some sort of diversionary manoeuvre from him, and the lack of one was beginning to get on her nerves. Either they cared about Henderson and wanted him protected as an asset or they didn't.

Adam had phoned through with the information that they'd gathered and Ros had to admit that she wasn't surprised to hear of the details of the man's military background. It went some way to explaining his love of routine. She had been a little irked at Harry's warning to play it safe. Did he not trust her to do her job? She knew that she had overstepped the mark with him on their return from Havensworth. But he had lied to her; he'd led her to believe that everything would be sorted out with her father, and all the while he knew the sort of sentence that was going to be handed down.

She pushed the thoughts out of her head and swore softly beneath her breath as she watched Henderson finish the conversation he was having and head away from her and into the shadows of the tower blocks of the estate.

She waited until he had disappeared into the darkness of the underpass before leaving the car and heading off after him.

She made her way through the underpass and into the first courtyard. The tower blocks surrounded her on all sides and she glanced upwards, towards the walkways trying to work out which route Henderson had taken. She spotted him one floor above her and turned quickly, darting through the open doorway and heading up the dank staircase.

The broken glass crunched beneath her feet as she made her way down the unlit walkway. Even in daylight, the pathway was cast in heavy shadow by the buildings that surrounded it, the smashed casings and broken flex that hung from the light sockets showed the sort of respect that the inhabitants paid to their living space. She jumped at a sound behind her and turned to see a fast food carton skittering across the walkway, blown by the wind. She rolled her eyes and forced her heartbeat to slow. She'd be jumping at shadows next if she didn't relax.

The path led her through just one of the warren of routes that snaked across the estate and made the aging tower blocks a no go area for the unwary. At his last press conference in the borough, the Police Commissioner had been eager to point out that there were no longer troubled estates, where his officers refused to patrol. Ros somehow doubted that anyone behind the security padlocked front doors that surrounded her had seen a uniformed officer in months.

She tried to shake the feeling that she was being watched. In an area like this it was highly probable that she was being monitored from any number of windows - blinds and curtains had started twitching as soon as she entered the estate.

She felt a hand close over her arm and she was pushed roughly towards the walkway's balcony. She tried to twist out of the vice-like grip, but there was no time. Her back jarred as it slammed against the metal railings and she fought to keep her feet upon the ground.

"What the hell are you doing, following me around everywhere like some damned dog?" Henderson hissed.

"Maybe I'm a little interested in the people that you are doing business with," Ros quickly regained her composure, angry with herself at the way that she had been surprised.

She tried to move away from the metal railings, but Henderson gave her no room to manoeuvre. He drew a slim-bladed knife from the inside of his jacket and brought it to bear in Ros's direction.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" she enquired in a bored tone, determined not to let him know the pain her wrist was now giving her.

"Sure," Henderson told her, bringing the blade closer to her face. "I think you'll find that this now gives me the upper hand in the conversation. This time we'll do things my way"

"Really! I didn't think you did the dirty work anymore. Thought you were the pimp; supplying killers to meet the demands of your paymasters."

"I'm not kidding," Henderson told her, slashing the blade through the air, only inches from Ros's face.

She looked levelly at him.

"Just tell me who you sold the information to about Azhar al Hassan...then I'll be out of your life and you can get back to being MI6's lap dog."

"Are you really that stupid?" Henderson growled at her. "What does it take to make you realise that you're in no position to be making demands?"

"Perhaps when I'm faced with someone who actually poses a threat...I've met scouts on bob a job week who are more imposing."

Henderson tightened his grip on Ros's wrist and he brought the knife forward in a fast, fluid motion.


	7. Chapter 7

**Parkstone Estate - 1105 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Ros felt the grip on her wrist increase and knew that Henderson was about to act. As the hand holding the knife flashed forward, she struck out with her free hand, catching Henderson's wrist and deflecting the path of the blade upwards. Hooking her right foot behind one of his, she used his own forward momentum to bring him down, twisting and wrenching her wrist away from his grip as he fell, preventing herself from falling with him.

Henderson crashed into the metal bars of the balcony and landed heavily on the hard concrete floor, twisting quickly, his eyes searching out the knife.

Ros coolly reached for the handgun that was holstered at the small of her back and brought it swiftly to bear on Henderson.

"Just stay where you are," she told him firmly.

Henderson looked up at Ros, his breath coming in fast uneven gasps, the expression on his face one of surprise.

"Don't try and punch above your weight," she warned him. "It's likely to get you hurt. Now if you want to avoid spending the next few weeks seeing a specialist and getting your knee rebuilt, then I suggest that you tell me what I need to know."

Henderson shook his head. "I can't do that."

Ros smiled at him. "Oh I think you can. I don't have time to piss about Henderson. I need to know who you told and what you told them." She raised the barrel of the handgun, indicating that Henderson could get to his feet. "I've been asking around; I've heard that you like a drink and that when you drink, you like to talk. Just who did you talk to this time?"

Henderson slowly climbed to his feet, making it clear that he wasn't going to try anything.

"I didn't talk to anyone."

"Now we both know that that's a lie. You may have managed to convince someone in 6 that you're a safe pair of hands, but that won't wash with me. Just tell me who you spoke to, and we can both go on our way."

Henderson shook his head. "I tell you that and I'm dead."

"You don't tell me that and you're certainly going to be looking for another career...one where it won't be important to have any motor function at all."

Henderson remained silent so Ros pushed again. "We've got footage that shows two stolen vehicles tracking the car carrying al-Hassan. Now, how many professional groups do you know who are sloppy enough rely on stolen cars? Tell me who you sold the information to. Who were they?"

"Why are you so interested in this?"

"Tell me."

Henderson shook his head. "No," he replied simply.

"I'd rethink that if I were you," Ros countered. "I get the feeling that there are some people out there who are unhappy with you right now. When those people start threatening to break your legs you may need friends."

"And you're offering yourself as a friend?"

Ros pursed her lips. "That may be over-stating it."

Henderson regarded Ros for a few moments.

"What is all this interest in the man about anyway? My contact just wanted him out of the way; you seem to be very interested in getting him back alive."

"Who did you speak to?" Ros ignored his question and continued with her own line of enquiry.

"No-one that you'd know," Henderson told her with a slight smile. "What does it matter? I was paid to get al-Hassan out of the way; no-one specified the means of his despatch."

"Well I'm certain that 6 didn't intend the matter to gain the interest of my colleagues and myself – trust me, that isn't something that they are happy about. If you want to make amends for your little indiscretion, I suggest that you tell me a little more about who you sold the information to. Who knows, I might be able to persuade them that you're not completely useless."

Henderson met her gaze; weighing up his options.

"It was just some local firm," he finally admitted. "Nothing special… you know, into bank jobs, post offices. Something with a bit of cash involved."

Ros cursed inwardly; Henderson confirming what she had suspected.

"How local are we talking? I mean are we talking UK Passport holders here?"

Henderson nodded. "I would have said so…Why the interest?"

Ros ignored Henderson's question. She now understood why Ruth had been taken and not simply dumped with the driver. She'd been useful to them. The thought had crossed her mind before, and she was certain that Adam had reached the same conclusion, but neither of them had said anything. There was little to be gained from speculating.

Ros narrowed her eyes. "Did this mysterious 'gang' have any idea of the importance of what you were telling them?"

Henderson remained quiet; his attention seemingly focussed on the floor.

"Did they know anything about what you were selling them?" Ros repeated, her tone taking on a harder edge.

"No," Henderson admitted. "They were after money; that much I knew."

"What did you tell them they were getting?"

"Access to money." Henderson shrugged his shoulders. "They were happy with that."

"And where are they now?"

Henderson shrugged his shoulders again. "I'm not their nanny."

Ros was about to push the issue further when the sound of raised voices reached her ears. She glanced left and caught sight of a woman with a buggy heading towards them. She had three children in tow, and none of them looked as though they were particularly happy.

"We're not done yet," she warned Henderson, stepping back to let the woman pass.

Henderson waited until the woman was in line with him before stepping forward and pushing the buggy in Ros's direction.

The woman yelled, and the buggy that was already overburdened with shopping, crashed into Ros's legs.

Swearing, Ros tried to extricate herself from the tangle. Henderson had set off down the walkway at speed and she knew that if she didn't get after him in a matter of seconds then she was going to lose him.

She struggled to keep her footing, trying to avoid tripping on the contents of the shopping bags that were now spilling out around her.

Ignoring the screeching woman, Ros forced her way past the buggy and headed off after Henderson. She sprinted the length of the walkway, heading into the shadows as she neared the staircase. There was the possibility that Henderson had taken refuge in the shadows of the stairwell and was waiting for her, but she knew that she couldn't afford to waste any more time. She sprinted into the darkness, taking the stairs two at a time.

Once at the bottom, she scanned the area quickly; hoping to spot Henderson but he was nowhere to be seen.

Swearing loudly she pulled her phone from the inside of her jacket and put a call into the grid.

* * *

**Thames House -1130 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Adam sat back in his chair and regarded his colleagues as they worked busily away at their stations.

Malcolm's entrance into the meeting room had brought with it the first real sense that they might not win this one. Adam had watched as Harry calmly closed the meeting and thanked everyone for their continued efforts. He'd not betrayed one ounce of emotion but Adam knew how he must be feeling. Anyone taking on a job as a field officer with Section D knew what they were letting themselves in for; they knew the risks; they were continually reminded of the risks. But Ruth wasn't a field officer; her work with the department was not supposed to lead her into danger.

His thoughts turned to Colin. Colin's death had hit the team hard; it had only been a few short months since they'd lost him and emotions were still raw. It had brought home the very hard message that no-one was completely safe. He knew that that fear would be playing heavily on the minds of the rest of the team.

It was his job to keep their minds focussed on the case and not allow their own thoughts and feelings to distract them from the task at hand. He'd seen the glances that had been directed towards the empty desk and was almost tempted to move things around so that it wasn't there as a reminder. He couldn't bring himself to do it though; after all, she wasn't dead yet.

He sensed movement from the corner of his eye and watched as Malcolm headed across the floor towards Harry's office.

* * *

Harry raised his head as he heard a tap on the door. Malcolm was standing in the doorway, a look of concern on his face. Harry waved him in.

"What can I do for you?"

Malcolm edged cautiously into the office.

"It's about earlier," he apologised. "I didn't think...I just came in as soon as I heard the news..."

"It's ok," Harry assured him.

"But I should have thought about things...waited until there was a more opportune moment, rather than bursting in as though I was in some kind of West End farce."

"Malcolm it's alright."

"But it isn't, is it?" Malcolm questioned as he took a seat opposite Harry. "Ruth's out there somewhere and I feel as though there's nothing I can do but come in bearing bad news. The rest of the team; they are all out there doing things and I feel as though I'm letting her down by just sitting here."

"You are not letting her down," Harry was surprised by Malcolm's admission and sought to sooth his colleagues fears.

"I feel as though I am. Colin died and there was nothing we could do for him. The same thing is not going to happen to Ruth."

Harry took a deep breath, realising what was at the heart of the problem. Malcolm had taken Colin's death harder than the rest of them. He knew that Ruth had been spending time with Malcolm, and he suspected that she had been his shoulder to lean on. She had certainly settled into the role of section confidante during her time on the grid. If a member of the team had something that was bothering them, then it usually wasn't long before he spied them perched on the corner of Ruth's desk, or engaged in a quiet chat in the small area that had laughingly been designated as a kitchen.

"I'm sat there and I feel as though I'm doing nothing," Malcolm's voice rose with his frustration. "Give me something to do Harry...Give me something that I can do."

"The work that you are doing is useful." Harry tried to reassure Malcolm.

"Is it? Is it really? Because it just feels as though I'm just sat here, wasting my time when at least one of us should be out there actually looking for her."

"This isn't just about Ruth," Harry's voice was low. "You can't allow this to become personal Malcolm. al-Hassan has been...."

"I don't give a damn about al-Hassan," Malcolm railed, raising his voice. "I couldn't care less if he was staked out on the ground and had his eyes pecked out by crows. I don't know what friendship means to you Harry, but I know what it means to me. I'd do anything to help get Ruth back. What would you do Harry?"

"What?" Harry was caught off guard by Malcolm's question.

"You think that Mace knows something - go and see him. Consequences be damned. I'd rather we were the cause of an embarrassing international incident for the Government than have Ruth's death on our collective conscience."

Harry's face reddened with anger; the accusation hurt. He knew that Malcolm was upset but still the words stung.

"What would you have me say?" he queried. "I've already threatened to drag all his dirty laundry out into the street and air it publically."

"But that was before you knew about Henderson," Malcolm lowered his gaze. "...I read the files that Jo downloaded," he admitted.

"I need proof before I can rattle Mace's cage," Harry protested, reigning his temper in. "I need proof that the JIC or 6 are complicit in this before I can shake the tree. A lot of things could fall Malcolm and some of them will undoubtedly strike us on their way down."

"But this is Ruth we are talking about Harry; there are times when you have to put other things before your work." He met Harry's gaze. "It is not what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable."

Silence fell between the two men and Malcolm began to feel as though he had over-stepped the mark. Harry cared for Ruth, and it was blindingly obvious to everyone exactly how Ruth felt towards Harry. There had been a long time where he wondered if Harry would ever realise the level of devotion that Ruth felt.

He had watched the two of them over the course of the past three years; noticing their relationship grow stronger, and watching Harry turn to her more and more as a confidante and sounding board. He couldn't think of anyone else in the office who had managed to get Harry's ear so completely. He'd not said anything to anyone of course; that just wasn't his way. What people did was their own business...except of course when their business became his...in a professional capacity.

He regretted now mentioning anything to Ruth about her relationship with Harry. He felt more than a twinge of guilt and hoped that he wasn't the reason that things had become so awkward between her and Harry in recent weeks. He owed it to Ruth to try and put things right. This was the only thing he could do; he just hoped that it was the right thing.

"What would Colin do?"

Malcolm looked up suddenly, surprised at the sudden shift in conversation. "I'm sorry?"

"What would Colin do? You want to do something more practical, then think about the searches Colin would have tried. Try those."

"And you?"

Harry glared at him. 'I have a meeting to arrange. But I need facts before I go there, not merely straws to grasp at."

"Malcolm?"

Both heads turned to stare at Jo who was now standing in the doorway.

"What is so very important that you feel you can come barging into my office?" Harry enquired archly.

"I'm sorry," Jo apologised breathlessly. "It's just that one of Malcolm's computers is beeping at us."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And that's unusual?"

"Which computer?" Malcolm wanted to know.

"The one you were using to track Ruth and Azhar."

Jo stepped out of the way as Malcolm rushed out of the office and headed directly for the terminal. Adam was already there, impatiently drumming his fingers on the top of the monitor.

"What is it?" he demanded to know as Malcolm began tapping on the keyboard. "What have you got?"

Malcolm was barely able to contain his excitement. "It's Ruth's mobile, it's transmitting again."

"What!" Adam moved round and stared intently at the display on the screen. "Is that even possible?"

"We assumed that the mobile was taken and turned off by the gang. What if it wasn't?"

"What if Ruth wasn't taken?" Jo joined the two of them at the monitor. "Or what if she was left behind somewhere and has only just managed to get the chance to use it?"

"Get me a fix on the location," Adam told Malcolm quickly. "Jo, go and tell Harry what we've found. Zaf?"

"Yeah?"

"You're with me."

Without waiting for a reply, Adam headed out of the office, Zaf close on his heels.

* * *

**Sydenham - 1530 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Adam pushed the branch to one side and bought the binoculars up to bear on the property in front of him.

"I was expecting something a little more impressive," he admitted as he took in the low stone building and its crumbling slate roof.

"Shouldn't we call for back up or something?" Zaf queried as he moved up alongside Adam.

Adam glanced over his shoulder. "Not getting cold feet are you?"

Without waiting for a reply, Adam lowered the binoculars and crept further forward; using the heavy undergrowth as cover.

Zaf swore beneath his breath before setting out after him.

* * *

**Littleton Farm - 1540 Sunday 15****th**** January**

The mug shattered into fragments as it struck the wall. Ruth flinched and waited for the next outburst.

"Tell him that we're not messing around," the man warned as he came to stand behind her, his hands gripping the back of the chair.

Ruth dutifully translated the sentence and then added on her own message to him, to remain calm.

The look Azhar shot back, told her that remaining calm wasn't something that was top of his list of priorities. His face was a mass of blood and bruises. His right eye was swollen shut and his left was only just managing to remain open. Every non-answer was now being met with a beating. Ruth wished that she could somehow remain detached from the scene; wished that she could somehow retreat and pretend that she wasn't there.

A hand gripped her jaw and her head was twisted painfully to one side.

"What are you saying to him?' the man demanded to know.

"Just...Just what you..."

"You see I don't believe that... I think that maybe you need a little persuasion to..."

"Nash!"

The door to the room was flung open and a short, stocky man burst in; his face florid with the exertion of running. Ruth grabbed onto the name that had been uttered; desperate to be able to pin solid identities on the group that were holding them. The short stocky man was Flynn; he was the thug; Ruth's sense of fear would ratchet up every time that he entered the room. The man broke bones and seemed to take pleasure in it. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, ignoring the pain in her left wrist, as images and memories of Azhar's screams flashed through her mind. The thought of it made her feel sick to her stomach; Azhar had cried and wailed and protested that he knew nothing. She believed him and had pleaded with the men to stop what they were doing. Her cries had fallen on deaf ears however and the session had continued until Azhar had passed out from the pain.

"What did I tell you?" the man who she was now able to identify as Nash snarled. "I told you not to come in here unless I told you."

"I'm sorry," Flynn apologised. "It's just that I think there's someone out there."

"What?"

"I can't be sure," he admitted. "But I thought that I caught sight of someone out there."

Ruth jumped as Nash's voice whispered in her ear; she'd not heard him moving behind her.

"Have you got friends out there who are looking for you?"

"I...I doubt it," she stammered back.

"Huh," Nash straightened up. "Find out who it is and let them know that they're not welcome." He paused. "Just to be on the safe side..."

Ruth yelped as she was hauled out of the chair and manhandled towards the door.

"If we've got unwelcome visitors; best to let them know that we mean business."

* * *

**Sydenham - 1545 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Adam peered in through the grime encrusted windows at the rear of the building.

It was immediately obvious that the old cottage had not been lived in for a long time. The paint was peeling from the walls and the floorboards were rotting away. If he waited long enough, Adam was certain that he'd see a rat scurrying across the floor and into one of the large cracks that had formed in the walls as subsidence took hold.

A low hiss from Zaf made him turn his head and he looked to see his colleague pulling open one of the windows further along. He crouched down and hurried over to join him.

"Stroke of luck," he whispered as he helped to pull the window open wider.

As soon as it was open wide enough, Adam rose to his feet and began clambering through, careful to avoid catching himself on the broken panes of glass that still hung in the frames.

Safely into the building he crept towards the door, listening out for any sound from the next room. Satisfied that no-one had heard him enter, he turned back to Zaf and motioned for him to follow.

Reaching inside his jacket, his fingers closed around the grip of the pistol. The next stage of the operation had to be carried out carefully. There was no way of knowing exactly how many people were in the next room and no way of knowing how they were armed. He took steadying breaths and prepared to move.

Adam placed his foot against the lock of the door, testing its strength. It shifted beneath his weight and so he gently eased the pressure off. The door had rotted through and would only take one swift kick to break. He glanced back towards Zaf, checking that he was ready to move. Satisfied that all was ready, he leant back and kicked open the door and bringing his weapon to bear on the occupants of the room.

* * *

_**Malcolm's quote to Harry is by Moliere. 'It is not what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable.'  
**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_For those of you still with me....here's another part. Thanks as always for the reviews. _**

* * *

**S****ydenham - 1545 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Adam felt as though the world was moving in slow motion. He watched as the phone tumbled from the grasp of the young boy who stood motionless in the middle of the room, frozen in fear like his friend amid the debris that littered the floor of the room.

Slowly Adam lowered the gun and strode towards them; his eyes locked on the two young boys.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The two boys stood, mute in fear, neither one able to find his voice.

"I asked you a question," Adam barked as he holstered his gun and closed the ground between himself and the boy who had been holding the phone.

"Who are you?"

Wh....what's it to you?" the boy finally stammered.

Adam grabbed hold of the boy's jacket with both hands and pushed him against the side of the building.

"Where did you get the phone?"

Despite the grip Adam had on him, the boy managed to shrug his shoulders. "We just found it."

"Found it where exactly?"

"Just lying around."

The boy tried to push Adam away but Adam only pushed the boy back harder, ignoring the yell he let out as his back slammed into the stone wall.

"I'll only ask you one more time," Adam growled. "Where did you get the phone?"

"Adam," Zaf warned in a low voice; concerned that his colleague was getting too rough with the boy.

"It's fine," Adam reassured. "He wants to be a man; he should expect to be treated like one." He turned his attention back to the boy. "You're fine, aren't you? Tell my friend just how fine you are."

"I... I'm..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"I'm fine," the boy finally stammered.

"Hear that?" Adam told Zaf with a smile. "He says that he's fine." He turned back to the boy and pulled him away from the wall, spinning him around he pushed him back across the room. The boy attempted to regain his balance but failed and collided with his friend, sending the pair of them tumbling to the floor. Adam moved to stand over them.

"I came here hoping to find a friend of mine. Imagine my disappointment finding you here instead."

"I only found the phone," the first boy protested.

"Right now; somewhere...I don't know exactly where, someone could be causing a friend of mine a lot of pain...a lot of discomfort. But rather than helping them, I'm here...with you, listening to you bleat on about how you 'only found the phone'. Well I want to know where you found it. I want to know exactly where you found it and I want to know everything else you found as well...Am I making myself clear?"

"Yeah...yeah. Whatever you say."

"Well then, I suggest you get to your feet and you show me exactly where you found it."

The two young friends glanced at each other nervously.

"We didn't steal it," the second boy finally found his voice and spoke up. "We just found it...in this van."

Zaf placed a restraining hand on Adam's arm.

"Show us where the van is," he told the boys calmly. "Take us there and then you can go."

The two boys exchanged nervous glances before the second boy nodded.

* * *

**Sydenham - 1600 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Zaf watched as the two boys sped off into the undergrowth; they had barely spoken on the short walk through the field, too fearful to say anything much in case Adam took offence to it. Zaf risked a quick glance in his colleague's direction. Adam was now circling the vehicle, looking for any traces of anything that might have been left behind.

"I'll get someone from forensics down here," Zaf suggested. "I know there's not much chance of getting anything useful from the van, but it's worth trying."

Adam kicked out at one of the rear tyres of the white van and then turned away in disgust.

"I really thought we were onto something."

"Maybe we are," Zaf tried to reassure him. 'The boys didn't find the van till this morning...they said they were in the area yesterday morning and it wasn't here."

"They say it wasn't here."

"And you've scared them so much I doubt they'll ever lie to anyone again. So, if the van wasn't here yesterday, it looks as though it was hastily dumped this morning." Zaf watched as a small smile lit up Adam's face. "They have to still be in the area."

Adam walked stepped away from the van and took a few steps down the muddy track. "How many houses would you say there were around here?"

Zaf shrugged his shoulders. "Not my neck of the woods I'm afraid."

"But if you were looking to keep someone out of sight; you'd want an out of the way place. Call Malcolm; get him to look into property in the area; see if anything looks suitable."

"And what will you be doing?"

Adam pulled a face. "Breaking the news to Harry."

* * *

**Thames House - 1610 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Harry returned the receiver to its cradle and stared out at those who were still working away in the office. He'd tried to remain impassive as Adam had reported in, stating that he and Zaf had located the building where the phone signal had been transmitting from, but there had been a sense of expectation in the pit of his stomach, a sense that the whole situation would soon be resolved and that Ruth would be returning back to the grid.

That little feeling of hopeful expectation had now been crushed. It had been unrealistic to expect that the first piece of information would lead them directly to the right door; in fact it was grasping at straws to imagine that they would find either of them alive after this amount of time.

He buried the thought almost as soon as it surfaced. Nothing was proved, nothing was over. Maybe Malcolm had made a valid point. There were times when it was worth sticking your head above the parapet. Mace had known something about al-Hassan. Maybe it was time to shake the tree a little harder.

**

* * *

****Littleton Farm - 1615 Sunday 15****th**** January**

"Look more carefully next time...I don't think the local ramblers are really going to pose much of a threat,"

Ruth listened to Nash's scathing remarks to Flynn as she was pushed down the corridor towards the small windowless room where the sessions with Azhar always took place. She staggered as Nash's hand pushed her squarely in the back and she reached out for the wall, her palms scraping painfully against the rough stone.

"Come on," Nash grumbled impatiently, pushing again. Ruth felt her right leg give out from under her. She stumbled and crashed into the cold stone of the wall, her right leg feeling as though it was on fire. She'd asked on several occasions for some form of first aid kit, but the request had always been met with nothing but silence.

She heard Nash swear; his patience with her was fading fast. He didn't trust her and she had the feeling that he would much rather be rid of her and replace her with someone else...someone who would simply ask the questions that he demanded.

**

* * *

**

**Thames House - 2000 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Adam threw his coat onto the back of the chair before sitting down and glaring at the screen in front of him.

He sighed heavily. "I really thought we had something."

"You found the van," Jo tried to keep an encouraging tone to her voice, but Adam waved the comment away.

"There won't be anything to find there. The thing will have so many fingerprints on it that it'll take weeks to work out who's been using it."

"We gave it a quick once over," Zaf told Jo as he perched on the edge of her desk. "The thing had been stripped clean." He thought about telling her about the bloodstains that they'd found on the floor and walls of the vehicle but decided against it. That was news that he and Adam were going to keep to themselves for the time being.

Adam screwed up the map that Malcolm had printed out earlier and threw it in the direction of the bin. "The whole afternoon...wasted."

"I wouldn't say that," Malcolm spoke up from his own desk. "I've been running a few searches and the discovery of the van has helped me narrow those search patterns down."

"What have you got so far?" Adam asked as he pushed himself out of his chair and made his way over to where Malcolm was sitting.

"I think I may have found something very interesting," Malcolm announced as he clicked on an icon in the dock at the bottom of the screen. A map of the area around Tetsworth appeared on the screen.

"From what we've been able to determine about the crash, some sort of hand-held jamming device was used to block mobile signals; the fact that it also blocked the tracers was probably by accident rather than design. There is also evidence of a short range EM pulse generator being used…"

"This is all very interesting," Adam broke into Malcolm's explanation, wishing not for the first time that Malcolm would spare him the summary and get straight to the point. "But what have you found out?"

"If we're narrowing our search parameters down to the area around where the van was found... I may have a location for you." He highlighted an area of the map and enlarged it.

"How?"

Malcolm sniffed, "I **was** trying to explain." He brought up another screen. "Our team seem to have a very definite interest in gadgetry. There are a number of places where such material can be purchased. Far and away the easiest is the net; where there seems to be a proliferation of websites claiming to offer 'Spy Gadgets' to the masses."

Adam suppressed a smile at the note of distain in Malcolm's voice and watched as Malcolm took him through the online catalogue of one of the websites.

"These companies are selling fairly basic jammers and shielding devices and so on - at a very profitable mark up I have to say - but these devices seem to appeal to the discerning, would-be agitator." Malcolm turned in his chair to look up at Adam. "If you're buying two items and they offer you a third free, you're likely to go for it. And what better to help you hide away from prying eyes than a signal dampener?"

Adam shrugged his shoulders, still not really understanding where Malcolm was going with his explanation.

"I suppose it makes sense," he finally agreed.

"There is one crucial thing that people tend to forget," Malcolm said knowingly. "You place a signal dampener around your property and it stands out like a beacon when the area is scanned for communication signals. They also forget that, despite the promises of the obviously highly reputable online vendor, these cheap shielding devices are not as accurate as they claim to be."

"What exactly are you telling me Malcolm?"

A small smile crossed Malcolm's face. "I thought it prudent to look into the calls made to various customer service departments from mobile phone users in the Tetsworth area. It appears that the owners of Latchford Farm are having a great deal of trouble with their mobile reception at the moment. For some reason, the usually strong signal from the local base station has almost completely vanished."

Adam broke into a grin and clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "How many properties are there that could contain a signal dampener?"

"Given the range of these rather limited devices, I'd say only two."

"Malcolm, you're a genius," Adam called over his shoulder as he headed back towards Harry's office. "When you go, they should put a blue plaque on the wall commemorating your work here."

"They should dedicate the plaque to Colin," Malcolm told him honestly as he set about sending the information to Adam's mobile.

* * *

**Littleton Farm - 2100 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Ruth was sitting in a deckchair and soaking up the warmth of the sun. The sky was a cloudless cornflower blue, and the sand was warm between her toes as she dug her feet into the fine, almost power-like top layer. She felt at absolute peace with the world and wished that she could capture the moment and hold it forever in her mind.

The slamming of a hand on the table next to her shattered the image and she was thrust back into the nightmare she'd been trying to avoid.

What pretence at patience there had once been from the men around her had now vanished. She had heard the argument outside the door earlier. One voice raised loudly, declaring in no uncertain terms that they were wasting their time and that they were better off cutting their losses, dumping the bodies and getting out of there. She had simply closed her eyes and willed the voices to go away. She just didn't have the strength to deal with the situation anymore.

The door to the small dank room had opened however and the routine had begun yet again. She no longer had any sense of time. The sessions were sporadic and she wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed since that Friday night on the road. It felt like an eternity, but in all probability had only been a couple of days.

"Ask him again." The words were spat in her face and she struggled not to raise a hand to push Nash away. She dutifully intoned the words; not looking in Azhar's direction; no longer wanting to see the expression on his face.

The hand slammed down on the table again and she heard the sound of raised voices. She automatically began to ask the same question again but Nash grabbed her jaw and forced her to look in his direction.

"I need you to tell me what he's saying," he told her through gritted teeth.

She closed her eyes. Had Azhar said anything? She wasn't certain that she'd actually heard him speak.

There was now a punishment for getting things wrong... and she stoically waited for that punishment to be meted out.

* * *

**Tetsworth - 2300 Sunday 15****th**** January**

Adam narrowed his eyes and adjusted the focus on the binoculars. Down below in the valley was a rambling old farm house. It was shrouded in shadows, no lights visible from any of the shuttered windows. This was the second of the addresses on Malcolm's list. The first had turned out to be little more than a shell of a building, certainly not the kind of place where anyone could be hiding out.

He scanned across the building again, hoping to spot a chink of light but there was nothing. The place appeared to be deserted.

Adam shivered as the cold night air worked its way through the layers of clothing he was wearing. There were times that he hated surveillance work; it was frustrating to do nothing but sit and watch, but that had been the order from Harry.

He let out a slow breath and checked the building again.

**

* * *

****Ros's House - 0005 Monday 16****th**** January**

"This is going to get very boring, very quickly," Ros remarked as she pushed open the door to her living room.

"Well if you were able to follow orders, the home visits wouldn't be necessary." The officer from 6 rose to his feet and straightened his tie. "You don't seem surprised to see me."

"I recognised the smell from the end of the road," she told him as she dropped her car keys down on the glass-topped table that was placed in the middle of the sparsely furnished room.

The officer thought about pushing the issue further but decided against it.

"I thought I told you to steer clear of Peter Henderson."

"You did... I decided not to."

"That could land you in a lot of trouble."

"When I was a teenager my mother told me to steer clear of boys with motorbikes and pierced ears; she told me that they would only get me in trouble...Do you know she was right...but I had much more fun finding that out for myself."

"This isn't a game," the man warned her, moving to stand by the window; the light from the streetlight shining in through the slatted blinds.

"Then I suggest you stop appearing out of the shadows like something from a cheap B-movie," Ros replied calmly, unscrewing the lid from the bottle of whisky on the shelf and pouring herself a generous measure.

There was a moment of silence as the officer appraised the situation.

"What did Henderson tell you?"

Ros took a mouthful from the glass, savouring the flavour of the amber liquid.

"Why are you so interested? I thought you had him taped?"

"Did he tell you anything about the al-Hassan contract?"

Ros paused and took in the information before she lowered her glass.

"So you're admitting that there was a contract now? Why the sudden change of heart? Not that I'm not relieved that you've dispensed with the rather childish cloak and dagger routine."

"Henderson was hired to get rid of al-Hassan,"

"Why?"

The man shook his head. "I'm not at liberty to tell you that."

"Then why bother coming here? Why bother sneaking in here if all you are going to do is spew forth cryptic little messages about leaving things alone?"

Ros glared at the man for a few moments, beginning to think that she had finally overstepped the mark.

"Azhar al-Hassan is, as you are well aware, a non-person. In a past life he was a very influential figure; always in the background, always untouchable."

"What does he want now?"

The man gestured towards the whisky that Ros was nursing. "Do you mind? It has been something of a long day."

Ros relented and placed her own glass down on the table before turning and pouring an equally generous measure for her guest.

She watched as the man took the glass from her and took a healthy swig of the liquid.

* * *

**Littleton Farm - 0400 Monday 16****th**** January**

Ruth sat huddled against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying desperately to keep warm. She was shivering uncontrollably and the temperature in the room felt as though it was dropping further. There was no way out, she realised that now. If anyone had been coming, they would have reached her by now. Her thoughts drifted towards Danny. She'd always tried not to think of how he must have felt in those last hours, but now it was almost comforting to imagine him there; imagine him having the strength to stand up to those who had threatened him. She wasn't brave; she'd always known that and she'd never really believed that she would end up in this sort of situation.

Being a spy wasn't all that she had imagined it would be. She had been naive... naive and stupid to imagine that this sort of life was anything other than dangerous. She had been safe at GCHQ; safe and bored beyond belief...what she wouldn't give for a chance at that sort of boredom again.

She closed her eyes and prayed that sleep would come.


	9. Chapter 9

**_I was fully intending to sit on this chapter until next week....but I found myself with a quiet morning at work and managed to bash it into shape._**

**_You see, feedback does guilt-trip me into posting faster LOL_**

* * *

**Starbucks; Villiers Street - 0800 Monday 16****th**** January**

The coffee shop was buzzing with early morning commuters on their way into work. The queue for the counter snaked its way through the shop, and the thumping music from the stereo system competed against the constant chatter of the waiting customers for supremacy.

Harry watched with a certain degree of satisfaction as Oliver Mace scowled and tried to disguise his obvious displeasure. Harry loathed Starbucks and the other coffee house chains that had sprung up in recent years. Whilst the coffee they dispensed was invaluable at this hour of the day; he couldn't abide the brusque baristas and their seeming inability to understand that he wanted a straightforward cup of coffee, not something adulterated with syrup or chocolate or sprinkled with cinnamon. He pushed his own personal displeasure to one side however; he had wanted somewhere where Mace felt uncomfortable, where he was most likely to reveal more than he was supposed to.

He took a sip of his own coffee before addressing Mace.

"Why was 6's close surveillance of Azhar al-Hassan not made clear to us at the outset?"

Mace pursed his lips.

"Don't take that tone with me Harry; I can assure you that..."

"Don't bullshit me Oliver," Harry slammed his hand down on the table immediately attracting the attention of everyone else in the cafe. Doing his best to ignore the disapproving stares and low mutterings from two old women sat nursing their cups of coffee at an adjacent table; Harry turned his attention back to Mace and lowered his voice.

"Don't treat me like one of your whey-faced lackeys Oliver. There's no way that you'd let someone like al-Hassan get within spitting distance of the country without knowing every last detail about him. Don't sit there and tell me that you know he wears Armani boxers and then try and make me believe that you were unaware of who he really was."

"Even the best of us makes mistakes."

"Not when it comes to something as profitable as selling secrets to the highest bidder. Stirring up the red ants and the black ants was always your favourite pastime Oliver; I somehow doubt that the intervening years have changed you." Harry leant across the table. "I meant what I said before."

Mace took a breath and regarded Harry, weighing up his options.

"al-Hassan's presence was of course known to us, but it wasn't his existing knowledge that was of interest to us." He glanced around to make sure that they weren't being overheard. "al-Hassan made contact with some rather interesting parties prior to his arrival in this country. It looks as though he's not satisfied with the current state of his country's military ability. He'd like to see things return to the way that they used to be in the not so olden days."

Harry frowned. "Who exactly has he been talking to?"

A thin smile formed on Mace's face. "I can't tell you that, but I can tell you that he's ruffled more than a few feathers on his travels."

"Why was this information not available to us when he arrived in the country?"

"It was on a need to know basis."

"Need to know basis," Harry's tone was incredulous. "We were responsible for safeguarding his passage through the country. You don't think that the small matter of his real identity was something that we should have been made aware of?"

Mace affected a smile. "He's a man who's had his fingers in more than a few unsavoury pies down the years Harry. Nothing to get over-excited about."

"This is not little Jack Horner we're talking about here Oliver. He pulls his finger out and I'm pretty certain that there's not going to be a plum on the end of it. I want to know what he was doing in this country and why certain parties were actively encouraged to snatch him away from beneath our noses."

Mace looked at Harry for a few seconds; deciding whether or not he could reveal information.

"Abdul-Latif Zebari contacted us before his arrival in the country and warned us who was likely to be in tow. He wanted shot of him and we told him that we'd take care of it."

Harry struggled to contain his anger.

"What did he offer in return? A few pence off the price of a barrel of oil!"

"You know better than to ask me questions like that Harry," Mace chided.

"You handed false details about al-Hassan to a loud-mouthed drunk and trusted him to do the job!"

"Assets are there to be used Harry. Don't tell me that you are getting soft in your old age? You can't sit there and preach ethics at me. I know the things you have done in the past."

"I never set one of my own up to be killed."

"I'm sorry for the loss of your officer Harry; I had no idea that Ms Evershed would become entangled in the affair. I presume you've arranged something suitable to tell the family?"

"She's not dead yet Oliver."

Mace took a mouthful of his own coffee before placing the mug carefully back on the table.

"But we both know that it won't be long."

"You are not going to simply bury this and get away with it."

Mace let out a low chuckle.

"Harry, please; you know that that's exactly what we are going to do. No-one is going to take us to task for protecting national security. If al-Hassan had been allowed to make contact and sell the information he had on offer, we would be looking at the demise of decidedly more than one British national. You need to look at the bigger picture."

"Bigger picture!" Harry's tone was rising. He was about to make further comment but Mace cut him off.

"I'm serious Harry. You were told to leave this matter alone and I suggest that you do just that. These are international waters that you are meddling in and they have nothing to do with you."

"That's where you are mistaken..."

"You know I'm right. That's the problem. Get your people out of this investigation and make sure than nothing links them back to it...unless you want the ruin of several careers on your conscience." Oliver looked disdainfully down at the coffee in front of him and pushed his chair away from the table. "These are muddy waters Harry; steer a course round them...for your own sake."

* * *

**Tetsworth - 0800 Monday 16****th**** January**

Jo shut and locked the car door, stifling a yawn as she did so. She'd never been the biggest fan of early morning starts, but the phone call from Adam two hours earlier had been one that she couldn't ignore.

He'd called and asked her to come out to where he'd spent the night watching the goings on at Littleton Farm.

Pulling her coat tightly around herself, she headed off across the rough terrain, following the directions that Adam had sent her, watching her breath form in small white puffs as she made her way through the frozen grass.

She had struggled with feelings of guilt during her journey home the previous evening. She felt as though she was betraying Ruth in some way by stopping the search for even a few hours. Zaf had tried to make her feel better about it; pointing out that she wasn't going to be of any help to Ruth if she was too tired to think clearly. She knew the point that he was trying to make, but her mind wouldn't let the thought go. She had woken up in the early hours, convinced that she had heard Ruth's voice calling out to her. The feeling had been hard to shake and she'd only managed a fitful restless sleep after that.

As she neared the crest of the hill, she looked for the tree line that Adam had mentioned. It sat just below the final rise of the hill and made for the perfect vantage point.

Making sure that she kept below the rise, she made her way towards a small group of trees. She soon spotted Adam, crouched down amid the undergrowth, a pair of binoculars trained on the valley below. Pushing on through the long, uncut grass, she headed towards him.

Adam looked up in surprise as Jo wordlessly handed him a flask, before trying to make herself comfortable among the twisted roots of the trees.

"Thanks."

She shot him a smile.

"I know how I am in the morning without coffee. I imagined you were worse somehow."

"Hmm," Adam unscrewed the cap and poured himself a cup full. "Thanks...I think."

Jo smirked at him and reached for the binoculars. Finding a space in the hedgerow she took a look down into the valley.

"A silver Mercedes left about twenty minutes ago," Adam informed her as he took a much needed mouthful of coffee. "The windows were tinted so I couldn't tell how many people were in it. I think we should head down there and take a look at the place."

"What!"

"I've been here all night. That has been the first sign of life and that was someone leaving. We come up with a cover and we go down there." He glanced in Jo's direction. "We don't have a lot of time left." He left the sentence there, knowing that he didn't have to explain things further.

Jo lowered the binoculars and met his gaze.

"Drink up then."

* * *

**Bromfelde Road SW4 - 0900 Monday 16****th**** January**

Ros parked the car at the end of the road. After her talk with the officer from 6 the previous night, she was certain that Henderson knew more than he was saying. Henderson had been paid for the contract to kill al-Hassan, only it looked as though he had sold it on.

Ros wondered if Henderson had just gone soft in his old age. He'd told her that he'd gone out for a drink to celebrate the work that he'd been given, but she was beginning to doubt that that was the real reason. He'd not got his hands dirty in years; it was possible that he'd just lost the taste for it.

Her pace slowed fractionally as she neared his house, her eyes scanning the area, looking out for anything that might be out of place. She wondered briefly when it had become second nature. A newspaper, one of the free local kind was sticking out of his letterbox and the curtains were still drawn. Ros glanced at her watch. It had gone nine; there was the chance that Henderson was just a late riser, but something tugged at Ros's suspicions.

With a swift movement, she pulled the lock pick from her pocket and inserted it into the door. As before it took only a few seconds to pick the lock and she pushed gently against the glass panel that filled the top third of the door.

The hallway was dark and a small pile of letters lay on the floor uncollected. Ros frowned and pushed the door closed behind her as quietly as she could. There were two explanations for the unclaimed letters – either Henderson had decided that a day or two away was the sensible thing or...well, Ros preferred not to dwell on the second possibility.

She made her way down the hallway, staying light on the balls of her feet. To the left was the door to the living room and it was sitting slightly ajar, a faint sound of music could be heard from within. Ros pressed her hand against the painted wood and eased it open, wincing as it creaked beneath her touch.

She stuck her head around the opening and quickly scanned the room. The place was exactly as she had seen it last. The television was on, a DVD playing, the short menu sequence repeating itself over and over again. Seated in an armchair was Henderson, staring sightlessly at the repeating images - a small entry wound in the middle of his forehead the only indication that anything was wrong.

Ros made her way across the room, two fingers reaching out to press against the side of Henderson's neck. There was no doubt that he was dead; it was just a matter of trying to work out if the culprits were still in the vicinity. Henderson's skin was cold, almost waxy to the touch. He'd been dead for a while.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, Ros selected a speed dial option and began pacing the room, silently willing Harry to pick up the call.

"What is it?" Harry's voice barked into her ear moments later.

"I'm at Henderson's place...I think we may have a problem."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"What does he want?"

Ros took a breath. "A casket."

The pause was longer this time.

"It wasn't anything I did," Ros felt obliged to explain. "I've just found him here, looks as though whoever it was, was out of the door a few hours…" she tailed off

"Ros?" Harry prompted after a few moments.

"I'm sorry... it was something Henderson said last time I saw him. I should have made the connection sooner. He told me that he was fed up with me following him around."

"So?" Harry's patience was wearing thin.

"It wasn't me that he was seeing." Ros explained. "I wasn't with him for the full day, and even if I had been, he wouldn't have seen me."

"So someone else was on his tail?"

"And there's one obvious answer as to who that was. Henderson was tasked with getting al-Hassan out of the picture. What if there was something that was kept from 6? What if al-Hassan was actually here to do business and had a meeting already set up?"

"I imagine that the people he was due to meet would be more than a little irked at his disappearance," Harry agreed, seeing the point that Ros was making; her guesswork matching the information that he'd been able to glean from Mace earlier.

"al-Hassan doesn't turn up at the appointed hour and they start their own investigation into where he might be."

"You think that they found him?"

Ros turned her head and looked at Henderson. "It was a clean, professional kill.... Harry...If Henderson did know anything and blurted it out..." she let the sentence tail off. There was no point in finishing it. He'd know what she was getting at. If they didn't act fast then there wouldn't be anyone left alive to recover.

"I'll get onto Adam," she told Harry smoothly, as she headed for the door. "If Henderson told them anything, then he's going to need to know."

* * *

**Tetsworth - 1000 Monday 16****th**** January**

Adam turned his head and regarded Jo, as he heard her let out a shuddering breath.

"Are you alright?"

She took a couple of deep breaths and then nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Adam smiled. "You're not a very convincing liar."

"Sorry."

"If you weren't at least a little nervous then I'd be concerned," Adam told her. "We've got one chance to do this… and I know I don't need to tell you of the possible consequences."

"It's those consequences that are making me nervous," Jo admitted. She turned her head and looked up at her colleague. "Do you really think that they're ok?"

Adam squeezed her shoulder. "We have to keep positive," he told her. "Azhar will be the main interest; there isn't any reason for them to concern themselves with Ruth."

Adam knocked smartly on the door and then glanced quickly at Jo, flashing her, what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

For a long while there was no sign of life from within the building.

"Should we knock again?"

Adam shook his head. "Let's just give them time to sort themselves out." He leant back slightly and glanced up at the building. "I'm sure that somewhere there's someone peering out of the windows and trying to work out just who's…." He broke off as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door. Adam grabbed hold of Jo's hand and plastered a smile on his face.

There was a pause, where Adam fully suspected the figure behind the door was regarding them closely through the small peephole. Finally there was a scrabbling sound of a bolt being drawn back and the door opened a crack.

"What do you want?"

Adam tried to make eye contact with the nervous looking face that appeared in the small opening.

"I'm sorry. My wife and I…" he stopped and smiled at Jo. She blushed and stared down at the floor.

There was a heavy sigh from the man behind the door and Adam switched his attention back to him.

"Excuse me," he apologised. "I guess that I'm still not used to saying that phrase. 'My wife'," he repeated, and Jo squeezed his hand tighter. "The thing is…we supposed to be staying at Franklin's Farm…We've been looking for it for ages and haven't been able to find it." He looked at the man. "I don't suppose…" he tailed off hopefully.

"Never heard of it," the man snapped back at them and made to close the door again.

"Please," Adam placed his free hand against the door and prevented it from being shut. "We really are lost. If you could help us out at all I'd be very grateful."

Adam watched as the man appraised the pair of them; obviously looking to see if they were likely to make the offer of some kind of financial reward.

"I'm sorry," he told them abruptly. "I've never heard of the place."

"Could I use a phone?" Adam smoothly tried to keep the conversation going. "I can't seem to get a signal on my mobile."

The man glanced nervously back over his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he snapped, suddenly seeming to decide that there was nothing to be gained from the conversation. "I really don't have the time to deal with this."

"I'm happy to pay for the call," Adam offered. "I mean I'm stranded here...you really would be helping us out."

"I'm sorry," the man repeated.

"It's just a phone call...and then I'll be out of here," Adam met the man's gaze. "I'd be very very grateful."

"I'm sorry," he searched around for an excuse. "...We don't have a phone."

"Could you tell me where I should go then?" Adam asked politely.

Sighing heavily, the man realised that he wasn't about to get rid of the couple in a hurry. He opened the door wider and stepped out into the freezing air.

"If you go down that way..." he pointed down the deeply rutted track towards the narrow lane that snaked away into the distance. He stopped, realising that he couldn't see a car anywhere. "How did you..."

Adam seized the opportunity and stepped in, applying pressure to the collection of nerves at the back of the man's neck.

Jo watched Adam pull the man out of the way round the side of the building, and then started down the long dark hallway; keeping as light on her feet as she could, so as not to arouse the suspicion of anyone else in the house.

She peered through the open doorways into the rooms as she went; most of them were in various stages of disrepair. From the intelligence that they'd been able to gather, the farm had ceased as a working dairy some ten years earlier upon the death of the owner. His son had retained the rights to the property but done nothing with it and, as far as the neighbours were concerned it was now slowly rotting away. As the smell of damp and mould filled her nostrils, Jo had to agree that the neighbours were spot on the money with their guesses. The place had deteriorated a lot. Several panes in the windows were broken and nature looked as though it was making a valiant effort to reclaim the place. She swallowed hard as the smell of damp grew and tried to focus on breathing through her mouth.

At the end of the stone-flagged passageway was a painted wooden door; the white paint was flaking from it, and it stood ajar; the door no longer flush with the hinges.

Jo winced as she tried to move it, despite her best efforts it creaked ominously and she hastily let go. Turning her head she could see Adam making his way along the corridor to join her.

He smiled at her and then placed his shoulder against the door, trying to move it as quietly as he could. Every squeak and creak seemed to echo throughout the house, but no-one came to investigate and, as soon as there was a gap wide enough to slip through, Jo made her move.

She passed through the gap and into the rear of the house. The building was in the same state of disrepair, but here there were signs of recent human activity. She let out a breath that she hadn't realised she'd been holding and took in the piles of empty tins and bottles that littered the floor.

Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turned to see Adam pull a handgun from the holster beneath his shoulder. She stepped back and let him take the lead, reaching for her own weapon. They had every reason to expect that the men were armed and as the instructor on her training course had been at great pains to point out, it was always better to expect the worst.

"Not that I'm complaining," Jo whispered beneath her breath, "But where is everyone?"

Adam shrugged his shoulders and continued his methodical search of the back of the house.

"No-one here," he told her in whispered tones. "Up or down?"

Jo frowned and then noticed the door that Adam was indicating. It was the same white-painted wood as the others, but looked as though it had seen more recent use. There was evidence of oil on the hinges and marks around the door handle, disturbing the layers of dust that had built up.

"I guess we go down," she replied simply.

* * *

**Bromfelde Road SW4 - 1030 Monday 16****th**** January**

Ros clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently as she heard Malcolm on the other end of the phone, trying to make contact with Adam. From the sound of things he wasn't having much success. She'd searched through Henderson's house and there had been precious little to find, but there was a meeting date that was scribbled on a notepad by the phone. Ros had the nasty suspicion that Henderson had been trying to sell the information about al-Hassan a second time.

"Come on Malcolm," she urged. "There has to be some way of getting through to them."

"I'm doing the best that I can," he assured her, fighting against the temptation to simply put the phone down on her.

"I thought you said that you'd given Adam a way of getting around the dampening field?"

"I did."

"And yet your little toy doesn't appear to be working now."

The line went quiet, both of them realising what the implications were.

"Get onto Harry," Ros urged. "Tell him that we need a tactical firearms team out there now."

* * *

**Tetsworth - 1040 Monday 16****th**** January**

Jo winced as she heard her footsteps echo back from the bare walls as she made her way down the stairs into the cellar. She halted on the creaking steps and listened out, straining her hearing, hoping to hear the sounds of someone out there. There was nothing.

She took another few steps and then halted, her breath catching in the back of her throat. Memories of Colin flashed through her mind, the pain of his funeral still raw in her mind. She didn't want to think about what they might find down here in the damp and the darkness.

She turned her head as the powerful white beam of a torch washed over the walls.

Adam nodded silently at her as he drew level, letting the light from the torch play over the rest of the stairs. The ceiling was low and the walls seemed to be built from the same local stone as the rest of the building. The cellar stretched away into the darkness; storerooms visible on either side. There was no sign of life. Adam began to fear that they were too late and that the vehicle he had seen leaving earlier in the day had in fact been carrying Ruth and Azhar.

He felt Jo's hand on his arm as the beam of the torch passed over the heavy wooden doors of the storerooms.

"Adam!" Jo guided his hand away from the doors and directed the beam instead towards the left hand side of the room, where he could make out something propped against the wall.

The brilliant white beam lit up the bodies that were lying, one atop the other, eyes wide open and unblinking in death.

"Oh my god," the words fell from Jo's lips as she stared horrified at the sight.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Thanks guys for all the lovely reviews, It was grand to hear that you're still onboard with this :)**__** Here's another part for you.**_

* * *

**Littleton Farm - 1045 Monday 16****th**** January**

"I'd put the guns on the floor if I were you," a voice rang out as the basement was flooded with light. Adam and Jo spun round to face the source of the call, guns brought to bear on the speaker.

Words died in the back of Jo's throat as her eyes adapted to the sudden intrusion of light. There were four figures at the top of the stairs, one of them dwarfed by the others. 'Ruth!' the name fell from her lips. Her relief at seeing her colleague alive was tempered by the state that she was in. She had an arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders and the barrel of a handgun placed against the side of her head. Her eyes were wide with fear and she looked as though she hadn't slept for days. Jo didn't want to dwell on what else might have happened. The important thing was that she was alive. Now all they had to do was get out of there.

"Unless you want your colleague to go the same way as the bungling amateurs next to you, I suggest you place your guns on the floor and back away," the man holding Ruth ordered.

Jo glanced down at the men who lay dead at their feet, trying to work out what exactly was going on.

She heard Ruth gasp in pain and turned back to see that the man holding her now had his hand wrapped tightly around her throat; as she watched, his grip tightened and he pulled Ruth's head up and back, forcing her up onto her toes as she struggled to maintain her balance.

"If you want I can kill her here and now. I still have al-Hassan; he is the one I have real interest in."

"You know who we are?" Adam questioned, trying to keep his eyes focussed firmly on the man holding Ruth. He was looking for a clear shot, but the man was using Ruth as a shield.

"Of course I know who you are," the man replied, his tone mocking. "There were only ever two groups likely to be looking for al-Hassan; the ones who really wanted to meet with him, and the ones who lost him in the first place." He nodded down at Ruth. "I'm assuming this is yours?"

"We're not here to do deals," Adam warned.

The man smiled. "And I'm not looking to make any. I just want you to lower your weapons and throw me the keys to your car."

Adam kept his eyes locked on the man holding Ruth, as he slowly lowered the barrel of his gun towards the floor. "You came here for al-Hassan; you've got what you want, just go...leave us here."

"Shut up," the man snapped.

"So far you've not killed a member of the security services... and you might even get a reward for your actions. Why don't we discuss this situation like rational human beings?"

"Why don't you shut up before I break your friend's neck?"

Adam heard the choked sounds from Ruth as the pressure on her throat was increased.

"Ok ok, you've made your point."

The rulebook was very clear when it came to situations of this kind. At no point was any officer to make deals with anyone threatening the life of a colleague. Sentimentality was not a trait that they were allowed the luxury of experiencing.

At the moment however they were also out-numbered and out gunned. There was nothing to be lost by trying to establish some sort of dialogue with the men, whoever they were. Adam crouched down slowly, placing his gun on the floor. Moments later he caught sight of Jo out of the corner of his eye following his actions.

He straightened back up, keeping his eyes locked on the speaker.

"You want al-Hassan...we don't. There doesn't have to be any..."

"Shut up! Drop your car keys onto the floor and turn to face the wall."

"And if I were to say that I didn't have any keys?"

"Then I'd know you were lying, and I'd be tempted to blow your little friend's brains out."

The keys in his pocket suddenly felt as though they weighed a tonne. So much was riding on them. He could feel Jo's eyes locked upon him; silently pleading him to comply with the man's demand.

Reluctantly, he pushed his hands into his pocket and pulled out the keys.

"If I'm to give you these, I want some sort of guarantee that..."

Ruth let out a choked gasp as the pressure on her neck was increased again.

"Ok ok," Adam realised that it was pointless trying to broker a deal.

The man nodded in Jo's direction. "Give them to her."

Adam noted the way that Jo tensed at the man's casual dismissal of her as a threat, and hoped that she'd have the sense to keep calm. He held out the keys and dropped them into her open palm.

"Bring them here."

Jo felt her hand shake as the keys landed; she was convinced that she was going to drop them. All she had to do was take them the short distance across the room and leave them on the bottom step; but she was aware that if she made one wrong move, made it look as though she was going to do something else, then that could be enough to end Ruth's life.

"Bring them over here," she heard the man's voice bark and she struggled to force her legs to obey. The keys felt unnaturally heavy in her hand and she closed her fingers tightly around them; feeling the cold metal dig into her palm.

She swallowed nervously and stepped out with her right foot; her eyes focussed straight ahead, not wanting to look at Ruth, not wanting to be reminded of what was likely to happen in the next minute. There was no guarantee that the man was going to keep his word. They had killed already and it was highly likely that they were going to do so again.

"Where is the vehicle?"

Jo was glad when Adam picked up on the question and explained their trek across the field; she wasn't certain that she was ready to enter into a conversation. She was fearful that her voice would betray her nerves, and they'd lose whatever slender bit of respect that the men might have for them.

"Put the keys down," the man's told her abruptly and she dutifully followed his instructions, placing the keys on the rough stone of the step before taking half a dozen steps backwards to rejoin Adam.

"Turn around," the man barked. "Turn around and face the wall...Now!"

Jo exchanged a look with Adam and was grateful for the look of reassurance that he shot her.

"Face the wall," the man ordered again.

Swallowing nervously, Jo followed the man's instructions. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable gunshot.

* * *

**Thames House - 1040 Monday 16****th**** January**

"I'm giving you the authority," Harry bellowed into the phone. "Get in there and neutralise the situation."

Zaf looked on silently as Harry paced back and forth across the room. He'd been on the phone for the past five minutes and his temper was most definitely beginning to fray.

"My people are in there and I do not want their deaths on my conscience because your team are incapable of acting on information received. What are they waiting for…a gilt edged invitation to proceed…or one of my officers dead on the floor?"

From what Zaf could make out, there was a team in position outside of the farm buildings. It was just a matter of who had the authority to send them in. He watched as Harry made another circuit of the room, switching the phone from one ear to the other.

"Well unlike you, I am very sure of the facts. If one of my officers has even a hair on their head harmed then I will see your head on a spike on London Bridge…Are we clear on that?"

The pacing stopped momentarily as the officer on the other end of the phone replied.

"Well then get your officers in there and do your job," Harry ended the conversation with a snarl, punching the end call button with more force than was strictly necessary.

Zaf stared up at the clock on the wall. All they could do now was wait; wait and hope that the outcome was the one that they wanted.

* * *

**Littleton Farm - 1100 Monday 16****th**** January**

Jo could feel the adrenaline coursing through her system; her heart was pounding and her breath was coming in jagged gasps as she struggled to remain still. Her hands were beginning to tremble and there was a part of her that just wanted the situation to be over. She strained to hear anything above the thump of her own heart, but there was nothing.

Without warning there was a blinding flash accompanied by a deafening loud bang that reverberated around the walls of the enclosed room. That sound was followed almost immediately by a series of short muffled shots.

It took Jo a few moments to realise that she was fine. The explosion had come from the floor above. She reacted without thinking; turning and realising that they were now on their own, she headed for the stairs, ignoring Adam's shouts to remain where she was.

She took the stairs two at a time; the smoke from the grenade ghosting into the basement as she reached the top of the flight. She grabbed the rotting wooden frame of the doorway with both hands and pulled herself into the passageway. She was about to head further back into the building when she felt hands close around her waist from behind and pull her to the floor.

She took in a breath, preparing to shout at Adam, but smoke caught in her throat and she was over taken by a hacking cough.

"MI5," she heard Adam's voice from somewhere behind her. "Don't shoot."

She closed her eyes as smoke pricked at the corners, and lowered her head onto the cold stone of the floor, realising just how close she had come to running into trouble.

Moments later she felt a hand tap her on the shoulder.

"Come on," Adam told her, "I've convinced them that we're friendly."

Jo pulled herself to her feet and stumbled forwards, trying to peer through the heavy blue smoke and see what had happened.

She blinked and tried to ignore the way that her eyes were smarting with the acrid smoke. She raised a hand as though that would in some way stop it from invading further.

To her left someone smashed a window and the temperature in the already chill room dropped, as the cold gusting wind from outside swirled in.

The smoke slowly began to clear and Jo could make out four bodies lying on the ground...One of them was unmistakeably Ruth.

Oblivious to the orders to remain where she was, she covered the ground as quickly as she could to get to Ruth's side. She knelt down next to her, reassured by the sight of the slight rising and falling of her chest.

"Ruth?"

There was no immediate reply and Jo fought against the urge to shake her colleague by the shoulder.

"Ruth?"

She placed a hand on her shoulder and noticed immediately just how cold she was to the touch.

"It's over," she told her softly, hoping to gauge some form of reaction.

She felt the tremors that ran through Ruth's body and wondered if they were caused by the cold or by shock setting in. She hurriedly unbuttoned her own coat, slipping it from her shoulders and placing it over Ruth's shaking form.

"The paramedics will be here soon," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. "We'll have you out of here and into the warm as soon as we can." She raised her eyes and met Adam's gaze, hoping that he was going to back her up, but he seemed to be engaged in conversation with the head of the armed response team.

"Thanks," Adam offered the word, aware of how inadequate it sounded. "How did you know we were here?"

Despite the protective mask that the officer was wearing, Adam could see the amused expression on the man's face.

"You've got some very persuasive friends." He gestured around the room. "We've cleared the ground floor and the upstairs of the property. I take it that the man outside was your doing?"

Adam nodded. "There are four bodies in the basement."

"Your doing as well?"

Adam shook his head. "The doing of the people that you just took out."

He turned his attention towards Jo and saw the concerned expression on his colleague's face. "I take it that there's an ambulance on the way?"

"Ambulance and meat wagon were part of the initial call out," the officer confirmed, removing his headgear and pushing a hand through his hair. "We were told to expect trouble."

He pointed back in the direction of the front door. "We came across two more individuals on our way in. One now dead, one seriously injured. Any idea of who they are?"

"Adam!"

Hearing the panic in Jo's voice, Adam broke off from the conversation. "I'm sorry, can that wait?" He gestured to where Jo was crouched down next to Ruth. "Just how far away are the paramedics?"

"I'll chase them up for you," the officer turned and activated his headset.

Adam offered what he hoped was a reassuring look in Jo's direction.

"They're on their way," he told her quietly.

* * *

**St Angela's - 1330 Monday 16****th**** January**

Ros spotted Harry sitting on a chair at the end of the corridor; he looked shattered. It was, she reasoned, not altogether surprising. She'd worked long hours in the past three days and Harry had always been there when she'd arrived and still working when she left. It had just been an assumption on her part that he'd returned home at the end of each day, now she was beginning to suspect that he had in fact been working in some capacity for the entire time.

She nodded in greeting as he raised his head at the sound of her approach.

"What sort of condition is al-Hassan in?"

Ros shook her head. "Past tense I'm afraid." She watched as Harry wiped a hand across his tired eyes. "He didn't say anything to me," she continued with her news, knowing that it wasn't what Harry wanted to hear.

"So we have no idea who it was he was supposed to be meeting up with?"

"Nothing concrete I'm afraid."

Harry sighed heavily and pulled himself to his feet. "This is one phone call that I'm not looking forward to making."

"Didn't Ruth have anything to say?"

Harry shook his head. "Not going to be able to talk to her for a while."

Ros thought about mentioning the need for urgency, but decided against it. It seemed that as far as Harry was concerned, there were a different set of rules when it came to Ruth. She closed her mouth and took a seat, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over her. What she really needed now was a comfortable bed and a good night's sleep. What Harry probably had in mind for her was a night writing up reports.

She raised her head as she realised that Harry had yet to make a move away.

"Thank you," he told her quietly. "I know the past few weeks have been tough to deal with and I appreciate the time that you've put in on this."

She acknowledged the thanks with a short nod of the head. She'd never been big on receiving thanks, but after the way that she had spoken to Harry only the previous week, it was reassuring to hear that she hadn't completely blown her chances of staying within the department. Developing 'people skills' had been something that had come up on her annual assessment on more than one occasion, and she had never really given it any thought. She had been born to join 6; she'd never really thought of a possibility of there being another career path for her. Now she had one and she realised just how close she had come to throwing it all away. She might never agree with everything that he said, or everything that he claimed to stand for, but Harry Pearce was someone she felt that she could rely on… and in her line of work, that was the highest accolade there was.

* * *

**Thames House 1700 Monday 16****th**** January**

"So who do we have to thank for the armed response team?" Adam wanted to know as he made his way across the office.

"Harry," Zaf replied with a smile. "You should have seen him. I, for one, am glad that I wasn't on the receiving end of that particular phone call."

"Like that was it?"

"Majestic I'd call it," Zaf smiled as he took in the state of the returning officers. "What have you two been up to? Playing in the dirt again?"

Jo scowled at him as she flopped down onto her chair. "Not funny."

Zaf took in the tense expression on her face. "How was it?"

Jo shook her head. "Not just yet…alright?"

"Alright." He pushed his chair away from the table and rose to join Adam who was heading in the direction of Harry's office. "He's not there," he called out. "Headed straight for the hospital as soon as the word came through."

"Thought as much," Adam replied. "Just want to leave him a message, that's all… thank him for the bail out."

Zaf smiled. "You'll have to thank Ros as well."

"Really?"

"She went hunting after Henderson and realised what was likely to go down….alerted Malcolm and it all went from there."

"Any word on Ruth?" he abruptly changed the subject.

Zaf shook his head. "Ros phoned to say that Harry was going to wait to talk to her. Doctor's don't want to let anyone in until they say it's ok."

Adam's mouth formed into a tight smile. "I can imagine that that went down well with Harry."

"Ros seemed to think that he was taking it all remarkably calmly."

"Where is Ros?"

"On her way back to Henderson's. I think she wants to get one more look at the place before the plods or 6 remove anything."

"She'll be lucky."

Zaf nodded back towards where Jo was sitting. "Is she going to be ok?"

Adam nodded. "I think she's just a little shaken."

"Close one?"

"Pretty close."

* * *

**St Angela's –1830 Monday 16****th**** January**

Harry knocked gently on the door as he pushed it open, expecting to see Ruth looking bored and voicing her impatience to be out of the hospital and back in her own home. What he found instead was an empty bed with the covers thrown untidily back and no sign of the room's occupant; an IV tube dripping fluid slowly onto the floor.

Turning, he made his way swiftly to the Nurse's station.

"Where's Ruth Evershed?" He took in the blank expression on the nurse's face. "The patient from room 411? The person you're being paid to care for?"

The nurse regarded him with a slightly bemused expression. "The patient in room 411 is... in room 411."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Oh no she isn't."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Into the home straight now. Huge thanks to everyone who took the time to review. As it was my first attempt at a longer story, I really appreciated everyone's input. There's one more scene to add, and I'll put that up tomorrow...hopefully.**_

_**Thanks again folks; it's been great fun.**_

* * *

**Thames House - 1830 Monday 16****th**** January**

Zaf picked up the remote from the table and changed the image on the screen.

"From the information that we've been able to gather, this is who we think is missing from our original little gang of thugs. Alan Nash - the proud owner of a long and not particularly pleasant record of robbery and violence. Arrested several times in the past few years, but always managing to slip through the net. Ably supported by a regular network of like-minded friends...three of whom are now lying in the local morgue, wearing nothing but a very fetching set of toe tags."

Malcolm pulled a face. "And any information of where our desperado is likely to be heading?"

"Unfortunately, information is pretty thin on the ground. Adam had the last sighting of him pulling away in the Mercedes. We've put the word out for him and the car but until we hear back there's not much we can do. He's not registered as a Passport holder, but as we well know, that's never stopped anyone from getting out of the country if they're determined enough."

"What **do** we know about him and his cohorts?" Adam asked impatiently.

"None of the intel we have on the gang indicates that they were particularly well educated. Their background was limited to botched bank jobs and the odd case of extortion," Zaf summarised. "They met up with Henderson, seemingly by chance, in a pub just off the Parkstone estate."

He clicked on the remote and the image on the screen changed again.

"From what we can gather, Henderson had been tasked by 6 with the removal of al-Hassan. As far as 6 were concerned he was a disposable clean skin. They'd used him in the past and now it was time to sever all ties. One more job and then they'd hang him out to dry."

Ros picked up the story. "From what I saw of Henderson, his mind wasn't on the job, he was only looking for a way to up his profit. 6 had paid him up front for the hit, dropping the payment into a safety deposit box in the usual way. Flush with money and struggling with the thought of taking al-Hassan out of the game, Henderson goes to the pub and bumps into old business associate Alan Nash. Several pints later and Henderson has sold Nash on the way to make his fortune. The story has become distorted. Henderson has assured Nash that al-Hassan is sitting on a goldmine...only a goldmine of money not information."

"All Nash has to do is get to al-Hassan and persuade him to part with the details of where the money is." Zaf explained. "Henderson gets payment from Nash for the tip and walks away thinking that the job will be complete without him having to lift a finger."

Jo shook her head. "So when questioned, al-Hassan wouldn't have a chance of being able to answer."

Ros nodded. "Exactly. Henderson figured that the gang would grow impatient and finally kill al-Hassan when they realised that they couldn't get anything out of him."

"But al-Hassan spoke no English...what are the chances that any of them could speak Arabic..." Jo voiced the thought.

"On a scale of one to improbable; I'd say incredibly unlikely."

"So they were never going to be able to question him?" Jo remarked pointedly.

"Exactly, that was part of Henderson's plan," was Ros' simple reply. "But there was something he hadn't taken into account. We never send an escort car out without a translator."

"Oh my God," Jo was horrified as the realisation dawned. "Ruth must have been acting as a translator..." She looked down at the photographs of the injuries that had been inflicted upon al-Hassan. "She had to have been present at every session they had with him."

"More than that..." Ros continued; her tone emotionless."**She** had to be the one asking the questions."

"You knew this all along, didn't you?" Jo was disgusted at the thought. "And you didn't say anything!"

"What good would it have done?" Ros asked pointedly. "There was enough worry in this office without adding to it." She clicked the remote again and changed the image. "What 6 didn't bargain for was the fact that al-Hassan already had meetings set up in this country."

Adam nodded. "And when al-Hassan failed to show, his people went looking for information. And who better to talk to than a man you've worked with in the past?"

Ros frowned. "By the time I got back to Henderson's place it had been stripped clean. His office showed all the tell-tale signs of a quick but thorough fingertip search."

"Our friends at 6 making sure that nothing tied him in with them," Adam agreed.

"Henderson was greedy," Ros summarised. "And it was that greed and an inability to keep his mouth shut that got him killed."

"So we need to find Nash, or at least find out what, if anything he knows."

Ros nodded in response to Adam's comment. "But with Ruth the only one who can tell us anything, I somehow doubt that Harry's going to be applying that much pressure."

* * *

**St Angela's –1840 Monday 16****th**** January**

The wind gusting around the outside of the building whipped against her skin, and she could feel the goose bumps forming, as the thin material of the hospital dressing gown did little to protect her from the elements.

Her head felt as though it was full of cotton wool and so she took another deep breath trying to clear it. From her vantage point she could make out the pinpricks of light from the buildings below and hear the faint sound of sirens as the ambulances made their way in and out of the hospital grounds.

For the last four hours, she felt as though she had been pinched and prodded and pushed to within an inch of her life. She wanted nothing more than some peace and some space to call her own. Finally, the doctor had decided that she should be left to rest and the seemingly never-ending procession of nurses had left the room. She had taken the opportunity to slip away. The tight bandaging around her knee had made progress slow, but the nurses had been too busy dealing with another new arrival to notice her hobbling along the corridor.

She shifted slightly, trying to take the pressure off of her leg and winced as it seemed as though every muscle in her body complained about the movement. Despite the haze of medication, she could feel her body protest as she refused to let it relax and get the rest it needed. She told herself that there would be plenty of time to rest; what she needed to do first was to prove to herself that she was still alive.

Somewhere behind her a door opened and, above the sound of the wind, she could just make out the movement of soft shoes upon the polished floor; the tell tale sign of a member of the nursing staff approaching. She had known that her absence from her room would be noticed, she had just hoped for a little more time before she was rounded up and forced back to bed.

"Come back inside," the female voice called out to her. Ruth didn't recognise the voice, but she could detect the sense of annoyance in the tone. She ignored it and kept her eyes focused on the horizon.

There was a pause followed by a heavy sigh and then a shout back to someone else within the building, most likely reporting that the errant patient had been located.

"You've got to come back inside," the nurse told her again, making little effort to hide the frustration she obviously felt.

"Oh, do I?" Ruth countered, not liking the tone in the woman's voice; her right hand gripping the rail of the small balcony tighter, determined not to be moved.

"You are supposed to be in bed. The doctor told you that you weren't supposed to be up. I'll have you know that half the nurses on the floor have been looking for you."

Ruth closed her eyes and tried to tune the chastising voice out of her head. She could feel the wind whipping through her clothes and took a breath full of the cold night air.

"Look, if you won't come back in, I'm going to have to fetch Sister."

"Oh, do what you want," Ruth snapped back at the nurse. "I am sick to death of people telling me what to do. If I want to stand out here all night, then I will." She was aware of how petulant she sounded, but for some reason, she didn't care.

There was a slight shuffling sound from behind and Ruth could visualise the nurse shifting from one foot to the other, trying to decide if it was safe to leave her standing where she was. Finally, the nurse retreated from the room and Ruth turned her attention back to the view in front of her.

* * *

**St Angela's – 1845 Monday 16****th**** January**

Harry pushed open the door to the room and immediately saw Ruth standing out on the narrow balcony, her arms resting on the metal railings, staring out into the night sky. The Sister on duty had bustled towards him and told him in no uncertain terms that he had to persuade her to come back inside. Despite considerable reluctance to tell him exactly what was wrong, she had made it perfectly clear that Ruth was in no fit state to be out of bed, let alone standing out on the balcony in her bare feet. Harry had the distinct impression that Ruth had somehow put the nurse's nose out of joint, and wondered exactly what it was she had said.

He pushed on into the room and closed the door silently behind him.

"You should come inside," he told her softly so as not to startle her, as he made his way towards the sliding doors that led out onto the balcony. "You must be freezing out there." He thought about mentioning the fact that she wasn't supposed to be out of bed, but decided that it perhaps wasn't the right thing to say.

She shrugged in response to his comment; a barely imperceptible movement of her shoulders, and continued looking out upon the lights of the city.

Harry placed one hand on the open glass door.

"If you're going to stay out there, do you mind if I join you?"

She shrugged again. "Would it matter if I said no?"

Harry thought it prudent not to try and answer the question. He slid the door open wider and then stepped out into the bitingly cold night air.

Turning up the collar of his coat, he took up a place on the balcony next to her, mindful to avoid invading the area she'd already claimed as her own. Resting his arms on the railings he leant forward and looked out over the city.

He had to admit that the sight always took his breath away. As far as the eye could see there were small pinpricks of light. In the distance, St Pauls was bathed in the glow from strategically placed spotlights and stood out from the buildings around it. It had stood as a beacon of hope during World War II and Harry found that he couldn't imagine the city without the reassuring presence of St Paul's domed roof. He had the feeling though that Ruth wasn't appreciative of the view. He stood silently next to her, prepared to wait for as long as it took, until she was ready to speak.

"I couldn't do anything to save him." Ruth's words were spoken so softly that he almost missed them. He forced himself to keep staring straight ahead, looking out over the lights of the city, not wanting to give Ruth any reason to stop.

"I couldn't do anything."

He heard her take a shuddering breath and, out of the corner of his eye watched the way that her right hand gripped the railing tighter.

"They tortured him Harry and there wasn't anything I could do."

He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be alright, but knew just how trite and empty those words would sound at the moment. He knew that the best thing to do was just be there – just to be a presence at her side, waiting until she'd worked everything through in her head.

"I just sat there…sat there and did what they told me….translated everything they wanted, repeated everything they said…and didn't do a damn thing to stop them." She took in another uneven breath. "I mean…what could I do anyway? ... I was just a convenience…Nash went to great pains to explain that…I wasn't important...my life didn't matter to them...and yet… I'm the only one who's walked away from it...That doesn't seem right…..that doesn't seem fair somehow."

Harry wanted to tell her that it was right as far as he was concerned; it was in fact the best possible outcome. He forced himself to remain silent however, and wait for Ruth to continue.

"I've had enough of this job Harry. I've had enough of what it does to people."

He heard the soft rustling of clothes as she turned to face him.

"Nothing to say?"

"I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything better," he told her honestly, turning to face her for the first time and trying not to react at the sight of the bruises that marked her face.

She forced a thin smile onto her face. "I wish you could as well," she told him honestly.

Harry noted the way that her whole body was now trembling as the chilling wind showed little sign of letting up.

"Come back inside."

She turned her head and looked back into the brightly lit sterility of the hospital.

"So that I can be locked back in another room and told what to do?" She shook her head decisively. "I just want to go home. I just want to get as far away from here as possible. I've had enough of people telling me what to do."

"The doctors want you to stay here for a couple of days…for observation," he informed her gently.

"I want to go home."

"Humour me Ruth, please. Just one night here and then I'll arrange for you to go home."

She shook her head. "I don't want to be driven."

Harry heard the fear in her voice.

"Then we'll take the bus!"

He watched and saw the slight smile that ghosted across her face. It was there only momentarily but it gave him a reason to hope.

"I'll meet you here and we'll go home together," he told her matter of factly. "Just promise me that you'll stay here tonight."

He watched as Ruth looked down at her hands, her right hand picking at the edges of the crepe bandage that now covered her left arm.

"I want to go home," she repeated, a tear starting to prick at the corner of her eye, her sense of frustration growing.

"Then I'll take you," Harry told her, prepared to tell her anything she wanted to hear at that point.

He watched as Ruth slowly raised her eyes, but when her troubled gaze met his, he found that he was unable to say anything at all.

"You've got to come back inside now," a man's voice broke the silence and Ruth immediately turned back to look out over the balcony, the moment lost.

Harry spun to face the young doctor who had spoken, his temper flaring.

"She'll come back inside when she's ready."

"She needs to come back in now... sir. She isn't well enough to be out there," the tone of the doctor faltered slightly as he took in the expression on Harry's face.

Harry glanced at Ruth, trying to make his mind up and then took a pace away from her, confronting the doctor, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back through the glass doors.

"Listen, he hissed. "When you've been through what she's been through in the past few days, then, just maybe then, you'll have earned the right to speak to her like that. Until that time you are to treat her with a little more respect. Do you understand?"

The doctor held up his hands. "With all due respect sir, she really does need to come back inside...Please. It is for her own good. The IV she was attached to wasn't just there for show. There's no chance that we'll be letting her out until the morning at the earliest." The doctor drew a breath, preparing to back up his case with more facts but Harry motioned for him to be quiet.

"Just give me a couple of minutes."

The doctor reluctantly backed away and Harry resumed his place on the small balcony.

"What did he say?" Ruth enquired. "I get the impression that they all think I'm likely to hurl myself over the railings."

"He says that you need to come back inside, and as much as I hate to admit it Ruth, he's right. You should come back in. Let someone look after you."

"I can't."

"I'm sorry?"

Ruth glared down at right leg, frustrated with her body for not complying with the demands she was making upon it.

"I'm afraid that if I move... I'll fall."

"Then let me help you."

"No." The word escaped her lips before she could stop it. She bowed her head. "I...I want to do this myself...I...I need to do this for myself."

Harry shook his head, wanting to berate her for her stubbornness but not having the heart to.

"That doctor is going to want my head on a plate if I don't get you back inside," he told her as he watched her slowly turn around, fighting against the urge to help her.

When she stumbled, he found himself automatically reaching out and placing a steadying arm around her shoulders. She leant into him, obviously needing the support he was offering.

Harry stood there uncertainly; not sure of the next move.

"I thought you'd abandoned me," she whispered quietly into his shoulder. "Why did you come?"

Harry searched around for an answer, not entirely sure what to say.

"Adam, Jo…the armed response team…everything….it's all against protocol." Ruth winced as she gathered up her remaining strength and tried to take a pace forward; the effects of the painkillers beginning to wear off.

"Come on…let's get you inside," Harry was reluctant to be drawn on the matter.

"No attempt at retrieval," Ruth hissed as she edged slowly forward. "That's what the book says."

"I must have an older version."

Harry was waiting for some retort from Ruth but there was nothing. He glanced down and caught the look of complete concentration on her face. The effort of walking was obviously greater than she was letting on. Reluctantly he stood back as the nursing staff pressed forward and took over. He found himself manoeuvred professionally to one side and told in no uncertain terms that Ruth needed to rest. There were still questions that needed to be answered but they would have to wait.

* * *

**Thames House –2030 Monday 16****th**** January**

Harry caught sight of Oliver Mace seated in his office as he made his way across the grid. Adam had called him at the hospital to warn him of Mace's arrival and, reluctantly he'd been forced to leave Ruth to deal with the attentions of the hospital staff and return.

"You're late," Mace remarked as Harry took his seat opposite.

"And you're heading towards a coronary if you don't learn to relax. I apologise for detaining you Oliver, but I had some business to attend to."

Mace sniffed. "Making sure that you and your team have your stories straight before the investigation begins into your recent activities?"

Harry smiled, although there was no warmth in the expression.

"There won't be an investigation Oliver; there is nothing to investigate."

Mace raised an eyebrow. "And there was I under the impression that you and your team had been ordered to drop the al-Hassan case. I'm looking forward to hearing how you are going to explain your way out of this one."

"The incident at Littleton Farm was as a result of information we had received regarding an armed presence there. We were as surprised as you undoubtedly were, to discover that al-Hassan was being held within those walls."

Mace shook his head. "No-one will believe that this was anything other than wilful insubordination on your part Harry. You were told to drop the al-Hassan matter and yet you carried on regardless. The clumsy fingerprints of your team can be found everywhere."

"Look at the bigger picture Oliver; I would have thought that you of all people would have been pleased with the outcome. al-Hassan no longer gets the opportunity to wheel and deal behind Zebari's back. A group of Neanderthal thugs have been taken off the streets and undoubtedly improved the county's clear up rate; and perhaps most of important of all, as far as you are concerned Oliver; a group of well-known political mercenaries have been silenced, so there are no awkward questions to be asked about why they were so interested in al-Hassan... plus there's the added bonus that you don't have to pay any money to Peter Henderson again."

Mace's face reddened with anger. "Be very careful what you are suggesting Harry…"

"Don't try and bluster your way with me," Harry cut across Mace's reply. "We can't prove that it's your signature on the cheque, but rest assured we do know that someone in your office was complicit in this affair. I'm sure if we dug a little deeper, we'd find our fair share of skeletons."

The tension in the air was shattered by the ringing of Harry's phone. He drew the slim object from his jacket pocket, and without giving Mace a glance, answered it.

"Yes?" he growled into the handset.

Mace watched impatiently as Harry transferred the phone to his other ear and turned away from the table. Any hopes he'd harboured of eavesdropping on the conversation were thwarted as Harry's tone dropped and immediately became much softer. Whoever it was on the end of the line, they were important. That much Mace could work out.

The conversation ended after only a few moments and Harry slipped the phone back into his pocket before turning to regard Mace.

"I don't have time to drag this out Oliver. Be happy that this business had an outcome that was satisfactory for all of us."

"You were acting way beyond your jurisdiction," Mace snarled. "You were ordered to drop the al-Hassan case and you directly contravened those orders."

"I was alerted to an armed terrorist threat and I dealt with it quickly and quietly." Harry explained patiently. "In this day and age I would have thought that that would have earned me extra Brownie points, not a slapped wrist."

"This is more than simply a slapped wrist Harry. You ignored direct orders from the top; you and your little band of renegades are not going to get away without some form of censure. The days of going around acting like some kind of vigilante are well and truly in the past. You will be lucky to keep your job."

"I was acting solely in the interests of national security," Harry replied calmly.

"What?" Mace's tone was incredulous.

"I heard that there was a potential threat to the security of this Fair Isle, so my team and I were duty bound to do something about it?"

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

"What would you have me do," Harry countered calmly. "I get word that a small group of armed men are holed up in a farm not twenty miles away from the central ordnance depot of the Royal Logistic Corps. You expect me to just ignore that threat?"

"That's bullshit Harry and you know it." Mace spat. "Those men never posed any threat to the depot, I doubt they even realised it was there."

Harry rose to his feet and brushed an invisible speck of dirt from his jacket. He made his way around the table and leaned over, his head close to Mace's ear.

"Prove it," he whispered before straightening up and walking away without a backward glance.

* * *

Outside in the office, Adam sat and watched the scene play out, with more than a little amusement. The evening had been filled with tension; no-one had known exactly which way the hammer was going to fall. They had been involved in a case they had been specifically told to keep away from. They were all aware that the fallout from it could potentially cost them their jobs.

Adam grinned at Harry as he crossed the office.

"I take it Mr Mace didn't see the facts in quite the same way?"

Harry smiled. "You could say that. I don't think we have anything to worry about on that score. He's full of more hot air than a balloon fiesta but, to be on the safe side, I want a convincing plan drafted detailing how we believed that there was a clear and present threat to the Army's Ordnance Depot in Bicester."

"Consider it done." Adam glanced back towards Harry's office. "Are you just going to leave him there?"

Harry looked back over his shoulder. "I feel sure that he knows his way out of the building by now. I have more pressing business to attend to. Once he's learned to look at the situation my way, Mace is going to be so busy taking the glory for getting rid of al-Hassan and bagging himself a terrorist group into the bargain, that he won't have time to rattle sabres around here."

"Night Harry."

Adam followed Harry's departure with his eyes before turning back to search out the other member of the team who was still working.

"Ros!"

Ros froze midway through clearing her desk before turning to regard Adam with a withering gaze.

"This had better be important Adam, I'm tired, I'm hungry and I'm long overdue for an evening away from this place."

"Don't worry," Adam was quick to reassure her. "I'm not about to ask you to write that document Harry is after…I just wanted...well I wanted to say thanks really."

Ros arched an eyebrow. "Thanks for what exactly?"

Adam gestured around the office. "For this…for helping out during the past few days." He tried to order his thoughts as he caught the expression on Ros's face. "This business with Ruth and al-Hassan...the extra hours...everything really."

Ros pulled a face. "You're not going to get all cloyingly sentimental and start talking about how we're all really one big happy family, are you? Because if you are, you can stop right there. I happened not to agree that al-Hassan should be thrown to the dogs. I've seen it done before and I don't agree with it. That's why I helped, that's all there is to it. I'm not buying into this Three Musketeers 'All for one' crap that you and Harry seem to put so much store by." She returned her attention to her desk and began stacking files.

Adam watched her swift movements and struggled to suppress a smile. There was definitely much more to Ros than the brusque front she showed to the world. He'd let her get away with the lie for now. Maybe one day he'd get the chance to call her on it and remind her of the first time she went out of her way to help the team. She might be in denial about it now, but he knew that they had the right officer for the job. As much as she may claim otherwise, Ros Myers was most definitely a team player.

_***Very geekily, the geography of the story does add up. Although St Angela's is a fictional hospital from a 1970's BBC series.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**_And as promised, the final installment._**

* * *

**Southbank – 1830 Thursday 19****th**** January**

It was early evening. The cold mid-January air swept along the path of the Thames; the commuters all turning up the collars of their heavy coats and heading out of the city, towards the rail stations and back to the relative warmth and safety of their own homes.

A bare Christmas tree floated on the surface of the Thames and was carried along by the current; past the Houses of Parliament and down along the once busy waterways of the Southbank towards Greenwich.

A few scant weeks ago the tree had been the centrepiece of someone's living room; adorned with lights and tinsel. Now it was cast adrift, stripped of all its colour and gaiety and left to the mercy of the tides.

Across the river, traffic could be heard, but there was a stillness on the wide walkway that continued down from Hungerford Bridge and along the Embankment.

A stillness that was punctuated only by the gentle lapping of the water upon the mudflats and the heavy breathing of an occasional passing jogger; reflecting back the light cast upon them from the streetlights above… it was as though this little stretch of walkway, with its trees adorned with piercing blue and white lights was somehow immune to the noise and hubbub of the city.

Ruth took a deep breath and sighed heavily; leaning her arms upon the wooden topped railings and looking across the water towards the city; the reflected light from the Thames casting her face in half-shadows and disguising the slowly fading bruises.

"I thought you might not come," she confessed, as she heard footsteps slowing as they approached. "After I broke my promise...I just couldn't stay there...cooped up."

"Well I don't think it's the smartest decision you've ever made….although I couldn't begin to imagine how many of those you have made in the past three years," Harry told her as he came to stand at her side.

Her phone call had been brief and vague...amounting to little more than a simple request for him to meet her down on the Southbank. With Mace on the prowl, Harry had been happy to agree to meet away from the grid, but he had the feeling that Ruth had her own reasons for not wanting to enter Thames House just yet. She had been avoiding phone calls for the past few days and, aside from the mandatory checks that nothing was wrong, had refused to be drawn on anything that had happened during her disappearance.

"I do love the view from here," she told him, interrupting his thoughts,

Harry regarded her with a curious expression. "What brings you to the wrong side of the Thames?"

She shot him a withering glance. "There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of north of the river."

"Meaning?"

She turned her back upon the view and regarded the building in front of her.

"There's the National Theatre," she told him, nodding in its direction. "Have you ever been?"

He snorted. "Into that concrete monstrosity? It's an eyesore."

"It's a Grade 2 listed building," she retorted smoothly. "And since when have you started to judge things solely by their appearance? I can't say that it's a trait I'll warm to."

Harry's mouth twitched, trying to prevent a smile from forming. It felt good to once again find himself in the midst of an argument that he knew he wouldn't be allowed to win. He knew that it was a tactic to avoid confronting the real reason for why she had asked for a meeting, but he was happy to play along with the charade for a while.

"It's a written fact," he told her. "You find me one article that praises the architecture of this….this thing."

"When it opened it was described as 'an aesthetic of broken forms'."

Harry rolled his eyes; it was pointless to try this tactic with Ruth; heaven alone knew just how many pointless nuggets of information were stored inside her head.

"Why go here when there are so many other theatres to go to?" he argued, warming to his chosen cause. "Classic theatres with long traditions and dark auditoriums."

Ruth shook her head. "I suppose your idea of a good night at the theatre is a well-dressed set and a play that has a long enough interval for you to get to the bar and back without rushing! Don't you ever want to see something that makes you think?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with actually being able to understand what's going on in a play; in fact I feel that it aides the enjoyment of an evening immeasurably."

"You're a snob," she told him warmly, pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her coat; regretting the action almost immediately, as her bandaged left wrist began to throb.

"You're telling me that you actually understand all these supposed 'social commentary' plays?" There was more than a note of disbelief in Harry's voice.

Ruth's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Not all of them," she admitted.

Silence fell between them and the only thing to be heard was the gentle lapping water of the Thames.

Harry stood patiently and waited for Ruth to break the silence. There was no sense of awkwardness in the silence; just an unspoken sense of companionship. He wondered just when they'd become so comfortable in each other's presence, and so able to read one another, that silence no longer became a void that had to be filled? He guessed it was all down to the amount of time they spent at work in each other's company, but a small voice in his head told him it was something more than just that.

He turned and faced the river again, resting one arm upon the railing and looking out at the boats that were making their way along the river. The few remaining tourist boats were empty at this hour and their bright lights shone out upon the inky darkness of the water. He tried to think of the last time that he'd actually taken a pleasure trip on the Thames, and to his shame, found that he couldn't recall.

"I look out there at all the lights and I wonder just when I stopped feeling like I belonged. I wonder when I stepped out of time with them and started feeling like this." Ruth's quiet voice broke the silence. "I look at it and it doesn't seem real somehow."

"It's going to be ok," Harry told her gently. "Just take your time."

Ruth let out a short laugh as she leant again upon the wooden railing, one finger tracing the letters that had been roughly scored into its weather-beaten surface. "That's all everyone keeps saying…take your time…What does that actually mean?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I can't pretend as though nothing happened….and everyone walking around me on eggshells is not going to help…I just want to stop feeling like this...like I'm walking around wrapped in cotton wool, like I need to be protected from everything."

"People are concerned," Harry informed her. "You can't blame them. You were the victim of..."

"There's that word again," Ruth cut across Harry's explanation. "I feel as though I hear it everywhere I go…. I am not a victim Harry," there was a twinge of anger in her tone. "I feel as though somehow I have forfeited my right to be treated as an individual. It's as though I've suddenly ceased to be me and become some sort of public property. Everyone knows how I should be feeling...should be reacting...and they're all making these concessions for me. Bizarrely I feel as though I am the only person not permitted to have an opinion?"

"People are concerned."

"I didn't ask them to be!"

"Ruth."

"Sorry…sorry."

Harry watched as Ruth leant forward and pushed her weight onto her elbows. He knew that she was still keeping something from him. He'd seen the look far too many times before, but he found that he was unwilling to push her further for answers.

"I know it's been a tough week Ruth, but things will get better."

Ruth let out an exclamation of disbelief. "Oh for heaven's sake stop humouring me," her voice cracked with emotion as she pulled her arm away and attempted to establish some space between them.

The movement caused pain to shoot through her leg and she had to grab hold of the railings with both hands to try and prevent herself from falling.

Not caring about reaction he would get, Harry closed the distance between them again.

Ruth turned to face him; aware of the close proximity between them but not making an effort to move away. She raised her eyes and met his.

"I sat there and told him that it was going to be ok," she told him finally. She scanned his face looking for some sort of reaction. "I sat there... and smiled... and held his hand and all the time I was angry with him for dying...I was angry with him for condemning me to death as well... I wasn't thinking of his pain, his loss...I was more concerned for myself. That's not exactly what you'd call noble sentiment, is it? I was a coward Harry."

Harry took her hands within his. "No you weren't Ruth, you wanted to survive. It's a natural instinct, a vital one in this game."

"But that's just it, it's not a game. It was a life, a precious human life...and all I could think about was how his death would affect me,"

Silence fell between them. Ruth's eyes were fixed on Harry's; needing him to say something, needing him to find the impossible words that would make everything better again.

She watched her breath as it formed in the air in front of her, mixing with Harry's before finally dissipating into the night sky. They were standing so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from him and smell the faint aroma of his aftershave in the air.

The shrill ring of a mobile phone broke the silence. Ruth's eyes dropped to look at her feet and the moment was lost. Harry cursed beneath his breath.

"You'd better take it," Ruth told him hollowly.

"It can wait."

"It might be important." Ruth turned away from him and retook her previous position at the railings, looking out over the silent beauty of the city.

Harry pulled the phone from his pocket, glaring at the name on the display before answering and bringing the phone to his ear.

"This had better be important," he growled into the handset.

"We've still had no luck in finding Nash." Adam's tone was urgent. "We're getting more and more pressure to tell them if al-Hassan said anything. I've just palmed off another call from 6. I know she's been through a lot...but we need to talk to Ruth...Harry?" he paused as there was no reply. "Harry?"

Harry switched the phone to his other ear and took a pace away.

"6 will get their answers Adam. You can remind them if you like of how this is all their fault. That might make them a little less keen to jump all over us."

Harry abruptly broke the connection and turned back to regard Ruth. There was no indication that she had heard any of what he had said on the phone, but he knew that it wouldn't take much of an educated guess to work out what the conversation had been about. He slipped the phone back inside his coat and retook his place next to her, trying to work out the best way to broach the subject.

Away to his left, a train rumbled out of Charing Cross, crossing Hungerford Bridge as it started on its journey towards the leafy suburbs; brilliant sparks of blue flying up from the wheels as the train screeched and strained its way up through the gears. Within moments it was gone and the unnatural silence returned, now feeling heavy in the air.

"He gave it up," Ruth's words shattered the quiet. She didn't turn her head to acknowledge his reaction but maintained her vigil across the water. "He gave up everything."

Harry's eyes widened slightly but he forced his expression to remain neutral. It was imperative that he find out exactly what al-Hassan had been in the country to sell; his mind began racing through all the steps that would now have to be taken to prevent a major emergency from occurring. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly missed Ruth's next sentence.

"Towards the end of the last session he just couldn't take it anymore." Ruth's right hand gripped the railing as her mind played back the images. "He cried and he screamed and he gave everything up." She took a deep breath. "And I lied Harry....I lied, I deliberately lied and they hurt him again because of that....He knew what I'd done....the look that he gave me...He'd had enough of it and wanted the release of death...but I wasn't ready...without him they wouldn't need me and I wasn't ready to die."

"You kept the secret Ruth; it was the right thing to do."

"But don't you see...I didn't do it because it was the right thing to do, I didn't do it for the service or the good of the country, I did it because I was scared and I didn't want to die."

"You did the right thing?" Harry heard Ruth's voice breaking as she struggled to control her feelings and he tried to find some way to reassure her.

"Then why do I feel like this?"

Harry wanted to tell her it was because she wasn't as jaded as the rest of them; not as hardened to the fact that at times it came down to a straight choice between you and someone else, but he didn't think she was ready to hear that.

"You're going to be fine," he told her. "You're going to be fine."

Ruth took a deep breath and stared down at the water below. "Where does it go from here?"

Harry paused, uncertain of how to reply.

"Where?" he finally questioned, not entirely sure what she was getting at.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to feel," she admitted hollowly. "...am I just supposed to pack up my feelings into some nice little tidy bundle and just bury them somewhere...because I'm not sure I can do that."

She shook her head and her whole body began to shake as her emotions got the better of her.

Harry wished that there was some way to take the pain away. He placed one arm gently around her shoulders, expecting Ruth to pull away, but instead she turned into his embrace and clung onto him as though he were the only thing in the world. Harry wrapped his other arm around her and held her close, returning the embrace, whispering to her softly that everything was going to be ok. He didn't care about the cold any longer; he didn't care about the other people on the Southbank, looking at them. He was going to stay there...with Ruth... for as long as it took...even if that meant all night. She needed him and this time he wasn't going to let her down.

* * *

**_Till the next time. Thanks for reading._**


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